


Some Boys are Monsters

by Eerily



Category: South Park
Genre: Angst, Boys In Love, Cheating, Childhood Memories, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Drama, First Love, Love Triangles, M/M, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-09
Updated: 2014-10-09
Packaged: 2018-05-16 07:08:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 153,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5819014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eerily/pseuds/Eerily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What do you get when you take a love sick puppy and taunt him with all his wildest desires and heated nights of forbidden passion? Why, a monster, of course. At least that's what Tweek has come to believe after confessing his feelings to his taken best friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue | Part One

**Author's Note:**

> A/N 1/6/2016: Heyo everybody. Do to a lot of comments I've seen over the past few months I'm gonna leave this here. I just wanna let you all know this fic is very old now. I started writing it four years ago, and it's based loosely around a time in my life similar to Tweek's in this story. It was written from the point of view of a teenage girl who was going through a tough time, and that reflects through the fic in some sad and awful ways. The relationship between craig and tweek in this fanfiction isn't always a healthy one. There's manipulation from both sides, and there is (one) instance of somebody physically hurting someone else within the relationship. If this disturbs you I'm tellin' you not to read this. I still love this story with every beat of my heart, and a lot of people really love it, but it's not for everybody. So:
> 
> If you are not mature enough to handle things like sex, strong and vulgar language, or cheating partners than this story is not for you. If you can't handle the depiction of unhealthy or troubled relationships, this fic is not for you. Things get pretty intense as the story goes on. You should probably turn back and read something else in that case.

I think everyone has it in their heads that I'm not too good at keeping secrets. They act like if I keep things hidden or bottled up it'll eat me up inside until I finally burst under the pressure. That's what it all comes down to: my issue with pressure. I can't really handle delicate situations very well, and to me really any situation classifies as delicate. Maybe that's why I tend to get left out when it comes to my little group of close-knit friends and all the things they hide from everyone else but share with each other.

I'm sure that's why.

Sometimes I can hear them mumbling among themselves, just quiet enough that I won't be able to hear. It goes on between Clyde and Token pretty often, but every now and then Craig will lean his ear into Clyde's cupped hand to receive a message. This sort of secret sharing is something I've always been excluded from. It used to bother me so bad that I would have mini panic attacks every time I heard them whispering. I mean, for all I knew they were talking about me, or something really serious was going on that they wouldn't include me in. Over the course of time, however, I've just learned to tune them out and avoid asking what's going on. I figure that they wouldn't tell me even if I did.

My most personal friends hide those kind of hush-hush things from me because they think that I don't have what it takes to keep a secret. They think I'll bend and fold under any sort of pressure, so I can't be trusted with such things. They're wrong.

I have a secret of my own, and I've been keeping it for a very long time.

My secret is six foot ten with a pierced lip and a split tongue. His hair is an inky black, and his eyes are a color blue that I've only ever seen in the sky. I'm talking about my best friend, and my secret isn't him so much as the tight knot in my chest when he's around.

I have feelings for Craig Tucker.

He's the guy who just happens to be sitting in the desk next to mine. We're in Government class and every second I spend staring at the side of his face the more my chest wants to implode. Craig's bottom half is pushed back in his seat, his top half is leaning over his desk, and his face looks just as relaxed as it always does. However, he looks intensely focused rather than wearing his usual blank face. He's tapping at his desk with the calloused tips of his fingers because his nails are too short to clink against the wood. That's something he does on purpose so teachers won't hear it and make him stop. They're following some sort of rhythm as he slowly bobs his head and moves his lips soundlessly. He's been doing that all class period, and it took me until just now to realize he's been picking up his pen and jotting down things in his note pad.

He must be writing a song.

He's good at making music. So good, in fact, that Token, Clyde and I all have some of his songs recorded on our phones so we can listen to them again when he isn't there to play them.

I tend to put them on repeat.

He adjusts himself in his seat while squinting through the faint lighting to see his paper, then he finally gives up and heaves out a sigh. Our seventh slide of notes is glowing on a projector in the front of our dimmed classroom, but he hasn't written down a single highlighted bullet all period; not that I have any room to talk. He doesn't look too concerned about our notes, though. He just looks irritated because the absence of light is making it hard for him to see his lyrics. He tilts his head to glance over at me, like he's making sure I'm still there. He does that at lot. It's almost as if he thinks I'll run off and get lost if he doesn't keep an eye on me. That's when he notices I'm staring.

His face is barely lit by the glow of our teacher's projector, but it's just enough light to reflect off of a few of his piercings. A little grin tugs at the corners of his lips that's so faint I just barely see it, and it lasts for a mere second before he goes back to the paper in front of him. I'm one of the lucky few he takes the time to smile at, even though it's usually hardly noticeable.

That thought makes a pressure bubble up into my chest again, so I sink low into my chair and cover the sides of my face with my forearms.

These aren't the same feelings a dude is supposed to have for his best guy friend, I'm sure. They're the feelings that I'm supposed to have for a girlfriend or the prettiest girl in class. It's always confused me, and it's always been there. Yet, those feelings have been growing more rapidly within the last year or so. They're so strong that they've been the cause of many sleepless nights, keeping me up far past three in the morning as I sit in the dark trying to glue my heart back together. I know it's because Craig confessed that he has feelings for someone, too.

They aren't for me.

Craig is a normal guy ( _I'm using normal pretty loosely_ ) who isn't messed up in the head like I am, so his feelings are for a girl like they should be. I found out last year when he finally kicked his stoic attitude in the ass and told Bebe Stevens that he's had a crush on her since sophomore year. I didn't even know he liked her until he asked her out right in front of me, yet another side effect of my friends not trusting me with secrets.

I can still remember that moment at her locker so clearly. It was only the first week of our junior year, and my brain was already on the fritz because I was still adjusting to the crowds of people. We were with Token and Clyde, as usual, walking to breakfast just like every day before when Craig suddenly steered off course and strayed away from our group. I, being the clingy little parasite I am, trailed behind him by instinct. I really wish I stayed with the guys. What I was about to see would strip me of any chance I ever had at getting a good nights sleep, not that I ever really had one before.

_She_ was just one of the many students shifting through their lockers. Her face was barely familiar. Her name was one I'd only heard mentioned in stranger's conversations. She had nothing to do with us. At least until Craig came to a slow stop beside her. He was playing with his hands in his nervousness, and swaying from side to side as if he couldn't keep his balance. All of that made me bite my lip anxiously. I had never seen him act so bashful before. It threw me off. Craig doesn't get nervous, he doesn't play with his fingers, and he doesn't give a flying fuck what some pretty, peppy, girl thinks of him.

He did that day, though, and every day since.

She was too busy gathering up a pile of materials from the bottom of her locker to notice the blushing giant standing beside her until she pushed up from the floor.

"Oh! Hi, Craig," she greeted in her surprise, a small smile budding on her lightly glossed lips as she looked up at him. My stomach lurched up into my chest at the shy look she had on her face. I was beyond baffled at how she even knew his name, let alone why she seemed so happy to see him.

I didn't like it.

"Hi," he nearly whispered. The look he had in his eyes only made me press my lips together in confusion.

I stood behind Craig during the entire exchange, and when my brain finally caught up with what was going on I reached out and latched onto his thumb. It was a small gesture that I used to do every day as a way to calm my nerves, but that day it became a silent and desperate plea to break whatever spell her deep green eyes had cast upon him.

I don't think I ever shook that bad before and stayed completely silent, but no words would come out of my mouth no matter how badly I wanted to scream. He kept going though, as if he couldn't even feel my trembling grasp on his thumb.

"I was wondering if you'd want to go to the movies." Craig's nasally voice sounded bored and detached from what he was suggesting, but she looked delighted nonetheless.

She twirled one of her long blond curls in between her fingers and bit her bottom lip to try and hide a smile.

I slipped my hand in between Craig's fingers and bit my tongue to try to hide my anguish.

"I'm free Friday," was the last thing I heard before my very core went numb.

She smiled.

I cringed.

That was a year ago, and it still makes my chest hurt when I think about it. I hide it surprisingly well, but having to share him with somebody else all the time only helps to rattle my cage. Not just because I like him so much, but also because I never had someone take up such huge amounts of his time before. I've been best friends with Craig since fourth grade, and before _she_ came along we nearly spent every minute of every day together. I was with him so often everyone joked that we might as well have been the same person. He still makes time for me, but things just aren't quite the same.

I wish I could find a flaw in her.

I wish I could find some sort of crack in her beautifully dolled up face, but you can't crack something that isn't porcelain. She's just as pretty on the inside as she is on the outside. That's why I could never compete with her. My outsides are ugly, but my insides are uglier. She knows that, I'm sure, considering how childish and frustrated I tend to become in her presence. Still, she's even friends with me. Ironically, she has been since she started dating Craig.

When our little group gathers at the breakfast table she likes to give me a hello hug and ask how I'm doing, which is really nice because her softly spoken words and shampoo that smells like morning time help me feel relaxed.

It isn't too bad, though. Craig still cares about me. He invites me over to his house, takes me to the mall, spends the night with me, and likes to carry me around like I'm a rag doll just like he did before. It just doesn't happen quite as often.

The bell suddenly goes off, making me jerk in my seat as the students around me jump from their chairs and head for the door. I'm almost always the last person to leave the classroom because I have so many things to pack up.

I don't trust the school lockers. I don't care what my teachers tell me. It doesn't take a genius to break into those cheap piece of shit locks, and Tweek Tweak is not one to let his stuff go unprotected. That's why I carry all of my school things in a messenger bag. It's something I've always done, but this year a lot of my classes require textbooks. My bag's real heavy and hard to pack back up. I shove my Government book underneath the others as I grumble to myself in frustration.

Craig hasn't moved from his desk.

We're only a month into our senior year and I've already lost about all my wits. The crowds of people, loud noises, and sudden change in daily ritual make me so nervous and panicked. Just the thought makes my hands shake, and the more they shake the harder it is to zip my damn bag.

Craig's still at his desk, watching me struggle.

He doesn't make a move to help me because he doesn't give a fuck. Either that, or he knows I'll bite off his fingers if he tries to insinuate I can't do it by myself. I hate when people think I can't do things on my own. I'm small and have a lot of fears, but I'm not a child.

I give up and hoist the big ugly thing over my shoulder only partially zipped. It has to be half of my weight, but I know I can carry it.

Craig stands up from his seat when I do. He follows me out of the classroom and into the hall just like every other day.

Kids bustle by us in a hurry. One bumps into me on accident, but doesn't stop to apologize. Craig only manages a disgruntled glare in their direction before grabbing me by the back of my shirt and reeling me in closer to his side.

I notice how weird we must look walking down the hall together. A pierced monster like Craig trailing alongside someone as little and plain as me has probably always looked off, especially with my tendency to latch onto him in my anxiety. They're either used to it or too intimidated by the ogre beside me to say anything about it.

"You should use your locker." Craig's deep voice floats down from high above me. I notice the only thing he's carrying is his lyric notebook. He didn't even bring his folder to class, although it doesn't surprise me.

"Mnh, no. You know how shitty those things are. What if someone steals my books or my phone?" I murmur in protest while clinging to the strap of my bag. It's so tight that's it's digging painfully into my shoulder, and my back has been killing me since school started. Still, I will not leave my stuff unattended.

"At least let me carry it for you, you're going to hurt yourself," he insists without the underlining concern he feels coming through in his tone.

I bunch up my eyebrows in confusion.

He hasn't offered to carry my bag since he got together with Bebe.

I watch him reach out to slip a finger under my strap. He's determined to be a persistent asshole who thinks I can't carry my own things.

"I can do it myself!" I shout, swinging my bag to the side so that it will escape his grasp. All I manage to do, though, is knock myself off balance and slam painfully hard against a locker. It nearly knocks all the wind out of me.

Craig raises a brow down in my direction.

I hand over my bag in shame.

**...**

"Hey! Craig and Teacup are finally here!" our friend, Clyde, chimes from across the band room.

_Teacup._ I can't believe that silly nickname has held up over all these years.

He's flailing his arms like he's trying to get our attention, even though we're staring right at him.

He's a dork like that.

Craig gives a quick nod of his head in recognition before dropping my bag to the floor with a thud. I glare up at him for treating my precious belongings with such disrespect, but it's about as effective as a magikarp's splash.

"We would have been here sooner if Tweek didn't carry that damned bag everywhere," Craig grumbles under his breath before shooting a similar look my way. I fold my arms across my chest and pretend I don't hear him. I'm still pissed that he just threw my bag down like it was anything less than sacred.

The only class I have with all my friends is this study hall, and, for a class that we're supposed to spend doing homework, it's pretty fun. It's in the band room. That's probably because our high school is small and pretty poor. None of us mind, though, because our teacher is really laid back and lets us do pretty much whatever we want.

I like this room. It's so big and open. The ceiling is way high up and there are no desks or book shelves to clutter up space and make me feel claustrophobic. The carpets are a really pretty speckled blue color, along with the walls, and the trimming is all white. It's a relaxing environment filled with people I enjoy, and it helps knowing that it's the last class of the day.

I don't even mind Bebe until she starts laying all over Craig.

Everyone's lounging around in the little concrete bleachers that are built into the room and stretch across the wall in a kind of half-circle. I'm not sure if there's some sort of special name for them, but that's where the band and choir stand when they play and practice, so every step is pretty wide, and at its highest it's only five feet off the ground. The mini-bleachers are covered with padding and blue carpet, of course, so for being made of concrete it's pretty comfortable to lay on. Me and my friends use it for everything but what it was intended for.

We sleep on it, crawl up it, tumble down it, eat on it, wrestle on it, jump off it, grope at it, and even hump it.

That last part is all on Kenny McCormick, though.

The closest we ever come to using it for what it was made for is when Kenny and Craig pull out their guitars and have jam sessions. Sometimes Token even gets out his violin and plays along with them, and everyone in the room lays all over the bleachers close enough so that they can hear.

I love all these people.

"Where's Bebe?" he asks, noticing our small class is down one member.

"She went with Mrs. Crawson to help put up decorations or something," Clyde replies, still across the room from us. "We're in here by ourselves until they come back."

Craig lets out air as if he is deflating, probably because he's disappointed his girlfriend isn't here, and then makes his way across the blue carpet to where Clyde is beckoning us. I trail close behind. I'm entranced with the way he moves. He's so fucking gigantic that he stalks across the room, towering so high above me that I can just barely touch his chin. His walk is so damn masculine with heavy footed steps, and his hands are tucked into the pockets of his thick, black jacket. He likes to wear hooded shirts with it and let the hood come up over the back. Today it's blue. It looks nice because it matches his earflap hat.

My brain needs to stop with this unhealthy obsessive thinking is what needs to happen.

I jump out of my thoughts and my skin when I hear someone slam onto a guitar so suddenly and loudly it stops even Craig in his tracks. I yelp like a Chihuahua that just got stepped on, making Craig jump and jerk around in my direction.

"Why hello, Godzilla," Kenny greets the tallest of us joyfully as he leans back against a concrete stair in the mini-bleachers. He's fingering his guitar strings, leaving no doubt that he's the one that left me nearly shitting my pants. His long blond hair looks just as greasy as ever, and he's sporting the same dirty old orange parka that he's worn since god knows when. I still really like him even though he's usually really filthy.

He looks like a hobo.

"Fuck off, McCormick," Craig snaps back without missing a beat, middle finger quickly extended as he grabs a hold of the back of my shirt. He better not storm away and start dragging me across the floor.

It wouldn't be the first time he's manhandled me like that.

"Aww, I love you, too," he sounds genuinely flattered, oblivious to Craig's annoyed gaze as a smile spreads across his face. Kenny isn't being mean, at least I don't think he is. He just likes poking Craig through a cage with a stick to get a rise out of him. It drives him fucking crazy, especially since Kenny is immune to sharp glares and intimidating features. I think the only reason Craig tolerates his quirky attitude is because of the guitar in his lap.

He likes having someone else around who can play.

Craig does little else but roll his eyes at Kenny before letting go of my shirt and plopping down on the edge of the bleachers with Clyde. Token is stretched out above them, doing his homework as he relaxes with one earphone in. I quickly take the seat next to Craig and scoot just close enough so that Bebe can't squeeze in between us when she gets back. I've learned over time that he won't make me move if I sit down before she has the chance, so I'm always quick to take the opportunity.

I sort of have an undeclared war raging with Bebe, even though she's oblivious to it. It's not just about getting to sit next to him. It's about which house he goes to after school, who gets him for the weekend, and so on and so forth. It's all about sharing fairly, which I don't think I'm very good at.

Especially when it comes to sharing Craig, no matter how much I like Bebe.

"Dude, I can't believe they make heels like these," Kenny comments from across the room. He's kneeling down beside the door while examining something in front of him, but I'm more puzzled by how he got all the way over there so fast. "They must be Bebe's. Hot."

"If you start drooling over my girlfriend, I'll bust in your face," Craig warns.

The only emotion Craig knows how to show openly is fury, but I would rather him show no emotion at all.

Craig's scary when he's mad.

Hearing the sudden anger in Craig's voice, Token quickly jumps in to tone down our friend's disgruntled threat.

"I think you should keep your hands off of things that don't belong to you," he says firmly before averting his nose back to his textbook.

"Oh come on you guys. You know what I think? I think Tweek would look hot in these," Kenny says before grinning from ear to ear, making every part of me vibrate in embarrassment as he glides back to our little group with stilettos in hand. I'm sure he's just doing this to avert everyone's attention. Yet, the suggestion makes Craig's face change from pissed off to bewildered immediately, and both Clyde and Token are laughing at the thought.

"What? Jesus Christ, no!" I shout in protest through the blush on my face. "Why would you even think something like that?"

"What? Are you chicken?" Kenny teases as I eye the red heels in his hands. Bebe must have taken them off when she went to help the teacher, leaving them here for Kenny to torture me with. I don't know how she gets in those things. The heels have to be more than four inches high.

Craig watches me from the corner of his eye. I don't have any fucking idea why he suddenly looks so okay with this, and I have rarely ever seen this weird look he's got going on.

It's concerning.

"Oh come on, Teacup! It'll be funny!" Clyde begs, suddenly picking up on Kenny's idea while all Token can do is chuckle to himself as he scribbles down answers on his homework.

"I am not getting in those things just so you can laugh at me!" I argue angrily, trying to defend what small shreds of masculinity I have left. When you're four foot eleven and have a pet name like Teacup masculinity is something that's hard to come by. If I put on those heels I'm giving up the only scraps I've got left.

Kenny flaps his arms like wings and makes chicken clucks in my direction.

"That's the cheapest form of peer pressure I've ever seen," I hear Craig mutter from his spot beside me. Finally, someone who doesn't want to witness me forfeiting what's left of my manhood for a cheap laugh.

"If you're going to convince him you have to do better than that."

Or so I thought.

I gasp, genuinely shocked and confused. "What? Not you, too!"

"You'd be taller," he replies as he shrugs his shoulders. Craig is obviously trying to sway me although his voice box is permanently broken, never allowing so much as a pitch change to come through in his words.

Kenny and Clyde both nod in agreement as they scoot in closer. They seem to be confident that they'll get me into those heels, at least that's what it seems like since they're so eager for front row seats.

"But what if I fall down? I could hurt myself you assholes!" I scream. The pressure is weighing down on me now that even Craig is trying to get me into those damn things.

"You won't get hurt. I'll catch you."

The reply slips past his lips just as everything else does, bored and drawl, but it still manages to leave me trying to contain a blush. I don't know why everything he says gets muddled in my brain until it sounds like he's meaning more than he's saying, but I don't like it one bit.

It figures he'd be the one I humiliate myself to entertain.

"Jesus Christ! Fine! If you'll leave me alone I'll wear the damn shoes, but I won't be happy about it!" I shout. I'm not sold on the idea, but I'm done arguing.

Clyde lets out a "Woohoo!" in victory, Token shakes his head in amusement, and a devilish grin spreads across Kenny's face like butter. I'm too nervous to look at what Craig's doing.

I snatch the glossy red stilettos from Kenny and examine the very complicated straps. I don't even want to count how many buckles and frills these things have on them, and I'm overwhelmed before I even slip off my sneakers.

All of my friends are watching me intensely from the front row seats on the mini-bleachers as I sit on my ass in the middle of the floor. I'm sure it's pretty amusing for them to see me get both feet into the ruby red shoes and begin the delicate procedure of tightening and buckling all the straps and laces that apparently go past my freaking ankles. The tip of my tongue is sticking out, a bad habit that I have when I'm really focused. My hands are small so I should be able to do this, but I'm not doing a very good job.

"Do you need help?"

God, Craig, you're awfully eager to please today.

"GAH! If you think you can do better then do it!" I spit out, pretending not to be delighted with the idea as I extend both my legs straight out in the air in my frustration. I lean back on the balls of my palms to keep my balance as Craig immediately stands up from his seat between Kenny and Clyde. He kneels down before me on the floor. Once he rolls up the legs of my jeans he takes a careful hold onto my trembling left foot and goes to work.

I'm amazed with how skilled he seems to be at lacing up these things, at least until I realize he probably does this for Bebe all the time. He starts at the very back of the shoe, and my thigh twitches when I feel his rough fingertips brushing against the exposed skin on my Achilles tendon. I'm baffled with how nimble his hands are with all those little complicated straps considering the tiny size of the buckles and the massive size of his hands. I guarantee he can wrap his fingers all the way around my ankle and then some if he wanted to.

Maybe my masculinity isn't so important after all.

"You don't think Bebe will care if we do this with her shoes?" I ask nervously as he moves onto the next heel. It makes sparks shoot up through my skin when I feel his hands working their way up my leg to get all the little buckles.

Stop it, brain, just stop it.

"No," he mumbles incoherently, but I can tell what he really means is: _I don't know and I don't give a fuck._

It's weird how he wanted to bite off Kenny's head just for touching them, but he's so eager to have me try them on. I guess I'm better off just to not question the weird way his brain works.

With one last click he finishes with the buckles, but he lets his thumb rest on top of one as if he's in deep thought. I interrupt whatever it is he's doing when I pull my feet away from his grasp to examine the shimmer on the shoes.

My feet are smaller than Bebe's.

I'm not sure if I should feel horrified or accomplished by that.

He takes my hand in his, which causes me to stiffen up until I realize he's only trying to help me to my feet. I want to jerk away because I know I don't need his help just to stand up, but I also know he won't let go even if I try to pull away. He's stubborn like that. Besides, I would be lying if I said I didn't like accepting a little help from him every now and then.

I raise off the ground with my hand in his, determined not to make more of a fool out of myself than I already am by just having the things on. I'm wobbling and unsteady, my bow legged stance not helping keep my balance in the slightest. I can hear someone whistling at me as Clyde laughs in his amusement. I'll bet it was Kenny.

I'm still not so sure if I'm really okay with this, or if I'm just doing it for Craig's attention. Either way I'm already in the damn things now, and they're going to be hell to get back off. I might as well have fun.

Craig gives me space so that I can try to walk, although I'm not doing too good a job of it. I'm nervous and shaky because everyone's looking at me. When I try to walk I take tiny baby steps that don't quite make it off the floor, leaving me scooting across the carpet like I'm mentally challenged. All the sliding gives me an idea though. I, being the complete loser I am, tap the heels of my red stilettos together and announce just loud enough for all to hear, "There's no place like home. There's no place like home."

Clyde is laughing obnoxiously loud, giving out the occasional snort as Kenny lets out a small chuckle. Token is trying his best not to join in, so he just shakes his head as if we're all insane.

"Craig should be the heartless tin man," Clyde suggests, still laughing to himself as he nudges Token in an attempt to distract him from his relentless studying.

"Clyde should be the brainless scarecrow," Craig retorts in an unfeeling manor. "Cowardly lion works, too."

"Well, sir, that was just cold," Clyde gasps like a scandalized teenage girl.

"You guys are hopeless," I grumble to myself, amazed at how simple it is to amuse them as I try to gain the massive amount of bravery it requires to attempt a manly strut in ruby red stilettos. However, the unusually high, thin, heel of Bebe's shoe doesn't quite land right. My foot slips out from under me and I flail my arms during a midair panic attack. I'm sure I'm about to bust my face on the side of our teachers piano, but Craig slings his arm under my belly and scoops me up before I can hit the instrument.

Just like he promised.

The guys go into a giggle fit once they're sure I'm okay, but I'm not sure if it's because of my failed strut or because I wildly flailed my arms in fear. Probably both.

Craig's holding me up off the floor. I would kick and thrash to make him put me down, but that's not the best idea considering what I'm wearing on my feet. I could easily kill a man with these things.

I should make a mental note to never cross Bebe.

He brings me over to the bleachers, probably because he doesn't trust me with walking there, before letting me slip out of his grasp and safely to my feet. I'm standing only an inch or so away from him, so I glance up in amazement.

"Mm, I can probably touch your face," I murmur, wrapping my arms around my torso and hugging myself as I look up at him.

His sharp features immediately soften as I watch his downcast face, "Probably."

I've forgotten that everyone else in the room exists as I unfold my arms and stretch them upwards, curious how high I can reach. With Craig looking down at me I press my fingers, then my palms, against the skin of his cheeks. It's surprisingly soft, and his face fits perfectly in my hands.

I beam up at him.

He smiles.

His lips part just barely before he whispers, "You look good in heels."

My face goes a red hot color in my embarrassment, but I can't tell if he's being serious or if he's only teasing me.

I open my mouth to reply, but someone beats me to it.

"Just kiss already," Kenny hollers towards us before letting out an obnoxious whistle.

However red my face was, it's surely much worse now. I pull my hands away from Craig's face as if his skin had burned me, and then fold my arms back around myself.

Thankfully, everyone's attention is averted towards the door as a beautiful woman with long, flowing, blond curls suddenly glides into the room. A red blouse is buttoned around her torso, and a beige skirt hangs from around her trim waist. She's missing her matching shoes. Our teacher comes in behind her as they laugh amongst themselves. Craig leaves me standing by myself on the other side of the mini-bleachers as he walks with that manly stride of his across the room to greet his girlfriend.

He stretches his arms out, and she runs to him.

I'm not blushing anymore.

Bebe peeks at me from around Craig's black clad arm. She looks confused at first, probably because she's realized I'm in her heels, but after a moment of thought she declares, "Lookin' good, Tweek!"

**...**

"We should all go do something when the bell rings," Token suggests suddenly. "It's been a while since we all just hung out."

"Ah! That sounds awesome! I've got money on me, we could totally stop by Taco Bell!"

Leave it to Clyde to bring up Taco Bell.

"Maybe the movies," Craig chips in. Bebe is still hanging on his arm, just like she does every day in study hall. I returned her shoes to her after me and the guys had our fun. She looks so happy and contented as she sits in what should be my spot, basking in him and his aloof attitude. I would be sitting next to him too if Clyde wasn't between us.

"Yeah the movies sounds nice. Maybe Taco Bell, too," Token agrees, sitting up straight behind us as he flips through cash in his leather wallet. "I can pay for Bebe too, if she wants to come."

I hate to be this way, but I really don't want to go if she's tagging along. The last thing I want to endure is an entire afternoon with them together. It's not like they're really lovey or anything, at least not in public, it's just unnerving to be around them so much with this damn weight in my chest.

"Oh, sure! That sounds like fun!"

Wonderful.

Token invites Kenny along too, but he tells us that he's got a previous engagement with his own group of friends tonight, so after the bell rings we walk down the hall without him.

Clyde's carrying my bag for me this time, and I feel a bit better being surrounded by my friends as we walk through the crowded halls. This is usually my favorite time of day. The moment I step outside of the school I feel like a massive weight is lifted off of my chest, and my anxiety with the crowded building immediately disappears. I also like it because Token tends to drop Craig off with me after school, and we'll spend the rest of the afternoon raiding my fridge and watching television until we pass out on my mom's big, cushy couch.

We like our afternoons comfortable and boring, simple as that. I wish today was one of our lazy days, because I'm so damn tried and a nap with Craig sounds like exactly what I need. Instead, I'm bearing through self-pity as we all file out of the school building and into the drizzling rain. Brown, orange, and yellow leaves crunch and rustle under our feet as we walk down the sidewalk, all the product of my favorite season. The air is thick but clean as it filters through my lungs, and the drizzle smells fantastic.

Nobody brought umbrellas, so Craig lets Bebe use his black jacket to cover her head like any good gentleman would.

It was supposed to be sunny today.

I guess the sky is just feeling gloomy, too.

We all climb into Token's car. Craig rides in the front seat every morning and afternoon when Token drives us to and from school, and Clyde and I usually huddle up together in the back. Bebe's in the car today, though, so the hierarchy of seating gets all fucked up. Clyde called front seat the moment his foot hit the sidewalk, leaving me stranded in the back with Craig and Bebe.

The rain that was once just drizzling has picked up speed since we've been driving. Everyone's already dialed their parents and settled in, although it's really not that far of a drive to the theater. I'm focusing on the noise of the rain on the roof of the car as I rock back and forth, a nervous habit that's pledged me since I was a baby. I'm trying to just relax and have a good time. It's hard though, so much harder than I ever imagined now that a pretty blond girl is buckled in between Craig and me.

They're talking quietly among one another so that nobody else can hear.

I keep twitching. The grotesque sound of their whispering is drowning out the relaxing pitter-patter that's been keeping me calm. This is way too much pressure. I feel like there's so much tension in my chest that my rib cage could give any second and just burst open. Oh god, I hope that isn't possible.

I close my eyes tighter. I would cover my ears with my hands if that wouldn't draw attention to myself.

Craig mumbles something, and Bebe giggles quietly. I look over at them for the first time since we first sat down in the car. She's laying up against him, and he's got an arm wrapped loosely around her shoulder. Shadows cast in from the raindrops sliding down the glass of his window. They leave his face reflecting their patterns, and he looks so relaxed and content with her up against him.

A horrible aching pain is consuming me.

I just can't help but feel like this isn't fair. Sure she's been dating him for a year now, but she was never close with him until he asked her out. I've been with him his whole life, and I've had feelings for him long before she ever even gave him a second glance.

_Tweek, Craig isn't going to like you. He likes girls. Even if he didn't, there's no way he would stoop so low as to want a freak like you._

I can't take another second of this. Seeing her laying on him is destroying my faltering heart, and there wasn't much left of it to begin with. I pull on my handle as Token rolls to a stop at a deserted intersection. I feel like the confined space of the back seat is closing in on me, and Bebe's heels keep bumping against my sneakers. I'd absolutely hate myself if I caused some sort of anxiety ridden scene and ruin everyone's good time, so I try to play this off as cool as possible.

"I'm sorry," I say, trying with everything that I've got to sound like myself, "but I think I'm going to walk home."

"What?" Clyde asks from the seat in front of me. "Don't you wanna see a movie?"

"Well... not really."

"We can probably do something else if you want," Bebe says kindly, looking at me from her spot on Craig's chest with a concern that makes me want to bash my head against a wall.

"No. I just want to go home." I'm speaking so calmly I'm starting to scare myself.

I feel like my insides are just a second away from exploding, but my face and my voice are so detached from the horrible, heart wrenching twisting in my gut that I think I seriously may have broken myself. The link from my emotion and my actions has miraculously been severed.

"I can drop you off," Token offers, confusion racking through his voice.

"No, it's okay. You guys have places to be. I'll leave my stuff in your car." Craig gives me a weird look when he hears me say this, but I don't really care.

I don't say anything else, just ignore everyone's protests as I swing open my door. I'm standing in the middle of the road in the pouring rain. I slam the door behind me, then speed walk across the street, refusing to look back at their faces through the wet car windows. We're in a pleasant little suburb, the same place where we were all raised together, but the dark clouds collecting overhead makes everything look so much drearier than usual. The moment I step into someone's yard and pass a bush I start running as fast as I can. Wet grass squishes under my feet as my legs pump underneath me, desperate to get away from everything that hurts. I can feel water welling up in my eyes, but I can't tell if it's really tears or just the rain.

I can't believe how foolish, weak, and helpless I've become. There's more to life than Craig, and there's more I could be doing with my time other than obsessing and crying over him. This isn't just some petty crush, though. Craig is the only constant thing I've had in my life that I can depend on. My parents are never around and my other friends tend to fade in and out of my life, but Craig is the one thing that's just always been around. I don't know how to change that.

I don't want to change that.

He's my best friend.

The grass stops, and pavement begins. My feet are still going strong as the bottoms of my shoes thump against the ground. They carry me onward until I see the playground come into view. My house is just a block away, but I'm wet, cold, and tired. Besides, I really don't want to walk through the front door soaking wet just to see the faces of my oblivious and disconnected parents, if they're even home.

I reach the playground equipment. I used to play here with Clyde, Token, and Craig when we were growing up. Hours of playtime and irreplaceable memories were fostered here.

There are all kinds of playthings scattered about. Monkey bars stand just a few feet away from me. The same swings I enjoyed so much as a child swing back and forth across the yard, helpless to go any other way as the wind and rain pull them along. Token used to push us on that rusted old merry-go-round, and Craig and I were glued to that seesaw. We had picnics here with our parents, and I can't even remember how many times Clyde busted his ass trying to climb that giant oak tree right in the center of the park. I trail along with the wind, just as helpless as my childhood swing set.

I see something coming into view far off in the distance. The red tip of a rocket ship made of metal and pipes reaches high up to the dreary mountains in the distance. I know that thing inside and out without even taking a second glance. I was so scared of it when I was little, my naive mind convinced that it would take off and we'd get stranded in space because Craig told me it was a real rocket ship. It was his favorite structure on the playground, and it took him a lot of convincing to get me to board his ship and fly out past the atmosphere with him.

Now that I look back on it, it was really cute how hard he tried to get me on that thing. When I finally did, though, I never wanted to get back off. Craig was an imaginative spaceman, not that anyone would know by looking at him now. He always invented these wild adventures for us to go on, most of which involved undiscovered planets, grotesque monsters, and epic battles. Our spaceman escapades were so long that we had to stop where we were and pick up where we left off the next day. I had no childlike ability to create and imagine things in my own mind, so I held fast to every wondrous new thing Craig made up for me. His words were so vivid and detailed that he could really make me believe that we were traveling the galaxy, and I loved nothing more than to climb up in Spaceman Craig's ship.

As a child I was convinced that Craig was one of the coolest people on earth _and_ in space, and, despite how he's hardened, I still do.

In all reality, he gave me a childhood worth remembering.

Things were so much simpler back then. The most complicated problems any of us had were trying to find a way to fit all four of us on the seesaw at once or if we wanted the crust on our sandwiches. That innocent bliss didn't last for too long, though. We all started growing up pretty fast after Clyde's mom died. Then, as time went on, more and more bad things happened until we were all stripped of our childlike wonder.

Craig was the one who took real life really hard. I still remember the day he told me he didn't want to play spaceman anymore. No more days playing in the sunshine, blowing on dandelions to make wishes come true, or playing hide and seek in freshly washed sheets hanging from the line. It happens to everyone eventually, but I didn't want to grow up.

I still don't.

I'm lonely and confused as water falls out of the sky and soaks my already damp clothes. I can feel the chill of the air in my bones. All I want to do is curl up somewhere dry.

I begin to pass the wooden toys. A playhouse, a train, and a submarine stand only feet away from each other. These weren't here when me and my friends were kids. They were added in just a couple years ago. I've never paid too much mind to them because they don't give me any nostalgic memories like the rest of the playground.

I bet they're dry inside, though.

I come to the submarine. There's a hole at the mouth of the wooden toy that's just barely big enough for me to squeeze into. I crawl in carefully as not to hurt myself. There's a fake steering wheel at the other side, along with a pretend scope that takes up a lot of space. Still, nothing matters besides the fact that it's dry and big enough for me to seek refuge in. I crawl deeper inside on my hands and knees. I'm shaking and quivering because of how cold I am, but I still prefer this over being at the movies with Craig and Bebe.

God, what is wrong with me?

I yank my phone out of my pocket and set it down on the chilly wood beside me. I hope that the water didn't do any damage, but I have an amazingly protective case to help combat my clumsiness. This phone has been inside a toilet, several cups of coffee, a freezer, and dropped off of a roof onto a sidewalk. If it still works after all that I'm not scared of a little rain.

I curl up into a tight little ball, unable to contain my convulsions as I sniffle.

I don't want to think about Craig anymore.

Sometimes I want to forget that he ever existed so that I can stop being in so much pain all the time, but the pain is a small price to pay for all the other things he makes me feel.

In an attempt to clear my restless mind I close my eyes, relax my muscles, and listen to the rain.

**...**

My whole body is stiff. When I try to stretch out my aching legs they don't make it very far. They hit the side of something hard. I can hear a very distinct pattern of noise that's fuzzy and static sounding, and as my brain adjusts it starts to sound more and more like rain. Realizing I'm not in bed I jolt awake, shaking and confused.

I look around for a moment before I remember where I am, and heave out a disgusting hacking cough. I have no idea how long I've been out here, but the weather outside is just as it was before I drifted off. I reach out for my phone to check the time, ignoring messages as I do so.

Well fuck, no wonder I'm feeling sick. I've been laying out here in my wet clothes for nearly an hour. I run my fingers through my hair as I heave out another cough. My body is stiff and pruned. I can still feel water squishing between my toes and my socks.

I'm just about ready to crawl out and run home, but I hear a knock on the other side of the wood that startles me.

After a moment's pause I call out, "Um, hello?"

Someone moves in front of the hole, blocking light as they peer inside.

"Tweek?"

Craig.

Of course.

I'm curious how he found me, but far too warn down to ask.

"What the fuck are you doing in there?" he asks, although he doesn't sound as mad as he does relieved.

I shrug, my clothes squishing as I move. His eyebrows scrunch together, and he tilts his head slightly to the side. I can see him clearly through the mouth of the wooden sub, rain still pouring down on him relentlessly although he doesn't seem to notice or care. His short bangs and the blue cloth of his ear flaps are sticking to his face as he eyes me firmly, and I just wish he would leave me alone.

"You look really sick." I can tell he's trying his best to display concern, but the emotionless tone of his voice doesn't show it very well. "Come out."

"No. Go away," I demand like a spoiled child. My voice is horse and cracking horribly, but I have no fucks left to give.

Suddenly his face changes, and he grips at the mouth with either hand to see if it's possible for him to come in after me. He's way too big to fit.

"Don't be stubborn," he pleads with me. A waver of emotion finally comes through now that he realizes he can't just reach in and pull me out. He doesn't like it when I'm too far away for him to grab onto.

I lean back against the fake steering wheel and curl my legs up against my chest in rebellion.

"Tweek." His voice is low and threatening, but all that does is fuel my childish behavior.

"Just leave me alone!" I plead, my voice wavering and cracking as I try again to keep myself from crying.

"No." He is firm on the fact that he isn't going anywhere until he's got me out of this submarine.

I can't believe he's doing this, crouched outside my little wooden refuge, suffering the heavy, frigid rain that's pounding down on him so hard now that he keeps wiping streams of water out of his eyes.

These are the sort of moments that make up for all the pain.

I stick my tongue out at him. He does it back, showing off his ridiculous body modification as he wiggles both halves of his split tongue in opposite directions.

"That's gross," I comment.

"Yup," he replies loud enough so that I can hear. A little smile unfolds on his face as he remains crouched outside in the horrid weather.

"You're going to get a cold," I mumble.

"Yup."

We're both sitting here, soaked through completely and probably getting horribly sick. Yet, even with our health on the line, I continue this immature game.

"I'm not coming out, Craig," I declare as a warning, pretending I want him leave even though I know he won't.

"That's okay," is all he utters.

We sit there as minutes tick by, and the longer he's out in the rain the worse I feel. I shift uncomfortably. My ass is finally going numb from sitting on this hard floor for so long. Still, he's just squatting there, unfazed by mother nature's angry wrath as he waits patiently for me to come out. It seems he's so strong not even the forces of nature can shake him.

As time continues to tick away I start coughing violently. I guess hearing me in distress triggers the protective side of him, because he moves forward and extends his arm like he wants to pull me out. I press myself against the steering wheel, determined not to let him snatch me up as he reaches inside. He doesn't make a grab for me, though. He just gives me his hand as a wordless offer for help. I finally give up and crawl towards him. He helps me as I squeeze my way out head first by hooking his fingers under my armpits so that he can pull me out.

I expect him to set me down once he knows I'm okay, but he ends up hoisting me up against his chest instead. He clings to my tiny frame as I latch onto him, wrapping my legs around his belly and locking my arms around his neck. I bury my face deep into his damp shoulder as he holds me high up above the ground. Suddenly, I feel so relieved that he's here.

He's leaning his head over me as if it can protect me from the rain showering us relentlessly. I can feel that we're moving, but I don't know where he's taking me. I don't really care either, because I'm at ease knowing that this huge, powerful man has every intention of defending me with all he has despite his usual hateful and destructive nature. It's one of the reasons I can't help but latch onto him. There's a downside, though, because the more kindness and concern he shows the more it hurts.

The more I want to tell him.

Suddenly I can't feel the water anymore, and when I look up I realize we're under the beams of a wooden roof. I can feel the damp cloth of his favorite hat against my cheek. I bring my hand to the back of his head so that I can feel it with my fingers, unsure if the sensation is just some illusion or dream because of how surreal I feel inside.

He leans over and sits me down on a little bench. I pry my arms and legs away against their will before he shakes himself off. I watch the nasty weather outside of the play house window as I continue to shake. It's so fucking cold out here, and it doesn't help that I'm soaked to the bone. Craig is staring at me, his unshakable gaze piercing right through me.

I can't believe he can stand up in here, considering his status as a skyscraper.

"Take off your shirt," he demands.

I'm baffled by the order at first, at least until I realize it's probably because it's wet. I shakily undo all the little green buttons and slip the soggy thing off before tossing it to the wooden floor.

I hear him sit beside me. Cloth rubs against cloth and a zipper unzips, but I don't think too much about it until I feel something heavy drape around my shoulders. My eyes widen in surprise as he nudges me, waiting for my arms to slip into the sleeves of his huge jacket.

I'm amazed by how dry and warm it is on the inside. Slowly, I humor him by putting my arms in the fabric. It's much too big for me. Once I've finished, he takes a hold of my thin hips. I jump, but he's just shifting my position so that I'm facing him.

He's being so slow and careful I don't really know what to make of it. He's always been pretty touchy with me, but never quite like this.

He pulls the cloth together at the bottom so that he can latch the zipper together, and a blush forms on my cheeks as he zips it all the way up to my chin.

The jacket is so big I'm practically swimming in it. I'm sure it would go down past my hips if I were to stand up. Still, it's so damn warm inside I feel like I could just curl up in it and go back to sleep, all the while whiffing in the scent that is purely Craig. His hands are still on me. They're lingering on my chest as he tries to smooth out the wrinkles in his jacket, which is only making my blush a deeper red.

He's looking at me.

He's looking at me the same way he looks at Bebe when she cries. It's making my chest bubble up again, and there's nothing I can do to make it stop.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he grumbles.

"W-what?" I blurt out in my confusion, tripping over my words as I do so. My voice is shaking tremendously. I'm not sure if it's because I'm cold or if it's because it's Craig who's warming me up.

"Why the fuck would you ditch us like that?" He doesn't sound mad, but he doesn't sound very happy either.

"I was worried about you."

The confession falls gently and delicately from his lips, gracing my awestruck ears as I freeze in my skin. If anyone else said that it would have been nothing more than a phrase, something repeated so many times it no longer held any real value. This is Craig, though.

My face flushes, and all I want to do is curl back up against him and apologize profusely.

"I'm sorry," I choke out on the very verge of tears. I'm sniffling and whimpering like a sick dog as I tighten the cloth of his jacket around me. It's not nearly as dry on the outside. "I can't tell you."

He raises a brow at me, suddenly intrigued now that he knows I'm hiding something. "Why not?"

"GAH! Because it's a secret! Gosh, Craig, don't pester me!" I ramble defensively.

He smiles to himself, but that's really about all he does before he takes his hands off me and averts his piercing gaze out the window. Just being in his presence is so calming and reassuring. A bluish glow created from the thick overcast and downpour is seeping in through the windows of the little playhouse as I listen to Craig's paced breathing through the sounds of the rain. Everything inside these speckled, wooden walls seems tranquil and at peace despite the massive storm raging outside.

In here with Craig I don't have anything to worry about.

My chest starts thumping as he pulls his gaze back to my face, and for quite some time we just sit there staring at one another. I can feel something thick in the air between us as I soak up the image of his bold features, but his narrow eyes, long nose, thin lips, and defined jaw line have already been burned into my head a long time ago. I don't want to just look anymore; I want to know what they would feel like under my fingertips.

I want to scoot closer and feel his arms around me.

Like Bebe does.

"I like you more than I'm supposed to," I suddenly confess in a faint whisper, no longer able to keep the secret that I once held onto with white knuckles. I feel the water in my eyes welling up again, waiting for the look of confusion or disapproval that's sure to soon be plastered on his face. Everything inside of me is vibrating as tears finally overflow and stain my cheeks.

God he must think I'm pathetic.

The apple in his throat bobs, and his eyebrows pinch together as his brilliant blue eyes lock with my dull green ones. He looks conflicted, which is definitely not something I was anticipating. He brings his hand to my face, making every muscle in my body stiffen up as he uses the rough pad of his thumb to wipe away the mixture of rain and tears that's gathered on my cheek. He licks his dry lips with both halves of his split tongue, more in thought than anything else as he tries to collect himself and speak. He has something to say, but Craig, being the way he is, can't quite get the words to come out.

I whisper his name.

All I wanted was to snap him out of his stupor, but I only added to the tension between us when his name fell out of my mouth as a breathy plea.

In response he slowly leans over in a calculated movement. It throws me so off guard all I can do in my confusion is lean away until the solid wall keeps me from going any further. A hand moves stiffly from my shoulder to my hip as he pins me against his upper half and the wall. His face is hovering dangerously close as the warmth of his hand chases away the cold in my cheek.

I'm so confused all I can do is stare with wide eyes as he leans into me. His face is so close to mine that I can feel his breath, which puts my overworked heart in shock.

I'm sure it's stopped beating.

I can feel his lips gently brush against mine. It's not quite a kiss, but so close it makes a little gasp escape from my throat.

He stops.

My heart suddenly bursts back to life when my brain catches up to what's happening. It's all so wrong, I know that it is although I can't really remember why right now. The look in his eyes is hypnotizing me. It says that he wants this, but the hesitation of his lips says that he knows so much better. He doesn't move away, though. No matter how wrong this is he just can't pull away.

Adrenaline is pumping through my veins at high speeds. It makes my heart pound violently in anticipation as my brain goes completely numb. I really can't believe this is happening. I can't believe that these are really Craig's hands lingering all over me, that it's really Craig's lips barely grazing my own. I can smell his overwhelming scent. It's not cologne or detergent, it's just Craig. A smell no one in the world could ever manufacture or duplicate.

He presses me against the wall, wrapping me up in him as he suddenly works his pierced lips against mine. I can feel the metal of his piercings press against my mouth. Every part of my body tingles and vibrates down to the very core, unable to handle everything that I'm feeling at once as I'm engulfed in his presence. I throw away every shred of moral fiber I ever possessed when I hesitantly bring my tiny hands to his face and allow my lips to press back. I feel his hands on me as the cloth of his jacket rubs against my otherwise unclothed sides.

I feel like my chest cavity is home to a supernova, expanding and brightening as a catastrophic explosion racks through my body and sets all of my nerves aflame. It's only a kiss, my plump and delicate skin brushing against his rough, chapped lips. Yet, it's so much more.

He gravitates slowly backwards, pulling his lips away from mine. His heavy eyes are watching me carefully as he idles just a few inches away. Our hot puffs of breath collide and mingle, and my entire body is on the verge of convulsing.

He's still leaned over me, as hard and unmoving as a statue while he waits for me to react. There's a hint of something on his face, something so unsure and unsettled as he retracts his hands from my quivering body.

_Bebe._

Fuck. I was so caught up in my bliss that I completely forgot she even existed, let alone that she and Craig were just embracing and whispering like all happy couples do just an hour ago.

I'm feeling sort of dizzy, overwhelmed by my realization as I begin an explosive and panicked rant. I scream at first, pretty much incoherent babble as I ask him what the fuck he was thinking, leaning down and kissing me like that while he already has a girlfriend. This is too much pressure, and I have no problem telling him that as my tangent continues. He waits patiently, offering me nothing but a blank stare as I slowly run out of steam.

Then, when I finally go quiet, he replies. His face is just as emotionless as ever as he quietly states, "You kissed back."

His tone isn't accusatory, just gentle.

Sadly, he's right. I'm just as at fault as he is, but when I felt him so close to me my mind became so clouded I probably wouldn't have even known my own name. My heart was fluttering, engulfed completely in the gorgeous realization that Craig wasn't apologizing or turning away from me.

He was embracing me.

He was kissing me.

That was what I had always wanted, but always knew better than to hope for. Yet, here he is, soaked through to the bone out in this chilly weather, all because he was worried about me. He's trying his best to expose his feelings through his actions rather than words.

All of this is an unfaltering confession of his own.

"But, what about Bebe?" I ask breathlessly.

He leans back against the wall behind him. His eyes look far off in some distant place as he tries to answer my question. I can still hear all the noises from outside. The distant sound of rolling thunder sinks down from the sky and the steady rain beats on the roof.

"Don't worry, this is just between us."

I look over at him, my watering eyes wide at what he's insinuating. As a strong, reasonable human being I should know better than to agree to something like this. I should stop this before it starts, choosing to stay with him this way would only make me a monster.

Timidly, I scoot closer to him. He opens his arm, inviting me in and holding my scared little frame against his side. I've never been a very good person, but I can be a little uglier inside if Craig wants me to be.

I can be a monster.


	2. Prologue | Part Two

I thought that things were hard before Craig knew that I liked him, but I can't imagine how painful it's going to be to watch him be with someone else now that I know there's something more between us. I actually don't know for sure what we are, only that we're more than friends, but obviously not boyfriends.

The thought bothered me so much that I seriously considered skipping school today. I can't stop thinking about it, and my head hasn't been working right since I felt the texture of his chapped lips. I've replayed the scene in my mind so many times that if I close my eyes I swear I can still feel the rough pads of his fingers lingering on my cheeks.

It's horrible.

There's nothing that isn't horrible about kissing someone else's boyfriend, but I'm more concerned about the next time I see them together. I'm no good with delicate situations, and this definitely qualifies as delicate. There's no way I'm going to be able to keep myself from spontaneously combusting the moment I watch Bebe wrap her arms around Craig.

_My_ Craig.

I know I shouldn't be so frustrated with her. She didn't do anything wrong. I did, and all I am to Craig is his awkward leech of a friend who he bummed a kiss off of while Bebe's his girlfriend; the love of his life. Shit, I need to calm down. This whole thing is seriously stressing me out, although I suppose I shouldn't be complaining.

That kiss was worth all of this confusion.

Yesterday, after I agreed to keep what we did a secret, he brought me home. The rain didn't let up, but Craig was unfazed as he held me to his chest, determined to carry me all the way there through the horrible weather. He convinced me to change into something dry as soon as we walked through my front door, but I came out of the utility room in a fresh pair of pajamas only to realize he wasn't in the living room anymore. I walked through every room in the house calling out for him, hoping that maybe he was still there somewhere. I never found him, so I just curled up on my mom's big green couch and memorized the patterns on the ceiling to distract myself from my own mind. I was so tired because I barely slept the night before, but I was helpless to get any more than an hour of rest.

I spent the rest of the afternoon with my eyes closed as I tried to decide if kissing Craig was a memory or if I really just woke up from a nap and was confusing reality with a dream

Then again, there was no other way to explain why his black jacket was left draped over the back of the sofa.

I figured that he had left it there purposefully for me, maybe as some way to compensate for leaving me alone without even telling me goodbye. I thought it was a sweet gesture, so I curled up inside of its warmth and stayed there all night as I contemplated. The dampness of the cloth under my fingers proved to me that what happened between Craig and I was real, but that came as both reassuring and horribly frightening. I wanted him to like me. I wanted him to kiss me and hold me like he did at the playground, but I never wanted it to be some dirty secret. Yet, as I wrapped myself up inside his jacket, Craig's familiar smell comforted my weary mind and consoled all my horrible fears.

I treated it with such a pathetic need, holding it close to my face and nestling into it as if it was a cherished friend that could hold me back.

I missed him.

I missed somebody that belongs to someone else so much that I rolled around in their tattered old jacket as if it was more sacred than the Holy Grail.

That's why I say pathetic.

I refused to come out from under my new found treasure until my alarm rang and I realized I had school in a few hours, not that I wanted to go. My parents awoke early in the morning and left to open the coffee shop, much like they do nearly every morning, so l got up off of the couch and started getting ready for school in an empty house. My mind was numb and sleep deprived as I lazily stumbled to the bathroom to scrub at my crooked teeth.

I looked awful in the mirror this morning. I was far too exhausted to even consider getting in the tub to take a much needed shower, and I barely combed through my hair. It looked far more wild than usual as it stuck up every which way.

My horrible issue with insomnia came through clearly in my reflection as purple bags hung low under my eyes, and the disgusting pimples in my hairline definitely didn't help my appearance any. The few zits on my face is nothing compared to what I have on my arms, though.

There are dozens of humiliating little red bumps that litter the pasty skin of my scrawny upper arms and boney shoulders. I hate them because they're really ugly and I've made an uncontrollable habit of picking at them, which only leaves even more unsightly scars.

I'm pretty sure I'm sick now, too. I can't stop sniffling and hacking on top of the issues I already have every day with clearing my throat in anxiety.

At least Token took good care of my stuff while I left it in his possession. I nearly cried tears of unadulterated joy when I was reunited with my precious messenger bag no more than five minutes ago, and I have the ugly brown thing clamped tightly between my legs, swearing to never let go again. I was so panicked yesterday that I seriously just left my stuff in his car, which is something that I would have never done if I was in my right mind.

Token distracts me when he goes on a tangent about something from the driver's seat. I'm rocking back and forth in a more jittery fashion than usual, occupying myself by picking at the zipper of Craig's jacket with my trembling fingers. The black cloth is bunched up in thick clumps around my wrists because there's so much fabric I could probably get lost in this thing. Remembering how it felt when Craig slipped it on over my shoulders makes my chest bubble and my cheeks blush red.

Token's voice is still filling up my ears. I'm trying really hard to listen to what he's saying, but this zipper is unusually shiny and I like the sound it makes when I pull it up and down so I'm sort of fading in and out.

Suburban houses pass by us outside the car windows. Some are really nice and fixed up with flowers and pretties, while others are run down looking with tall weeds, overgrown yards, and broken windows. Nonetheless, every one of them is essentially the same cookie-cutter house with two stories and a separate garage, just different colors and in different conditions. As I gaze up over the rooftops I notice that the sky looks a lot better than it did yesterday. There's no dark clouds or signs of rain although the sun hasn't come all the way out yet. Everything is tinted a light bluish color because of where the sun is hiding behind the rooftops, and I really like the way it looks.

I like how cool this zipper looks more, though.

It's Craig's zipper.

It makes a really cool noise.

Token slows his car as we turn into the driveway of one of those cookie-cutter houses. This one is much more familiar than the others. Its siding is an egg white color, and there are really pretty potted plants on either side of the front stoop. Mrs. Tucker planted those, just one of her many creative hobbies.

I immediately begin to convulse and vibrate when I catch sight of Craig and Clyde past the seat in front of me and through the windshield. They're leaning against the garage, where they wait for us every morning.

Clyde's got his batman backpack secured around his torso as he munches on a pop-tart. Craig looks just as relaxed as always with his gray guitar case slung over his shoulder. I feel like something really warm is pressing down in my lower belly as I examine the shape of his body, his face being too far away for me to see. My left arm jerks nervously as he and Clyde push off from the garage and make their way down the driveway. Token rolls down his window to holler a hello, and when he does the smell of fresh morning dew immediately fills my nostrils.

The closer Craig gets the more I feel like my chest is being filled up with hot water. I see his big hands, the same hands he held me with. I see the thin line of his lips, the same lips that he kissed me with. I vibrate helplessly as I rock back and forth and chew on my fingernails.

I haven't spoken to him since he disappeared from my house yesterday, and I've been too tired and sick to mentally prepare myself for this.

I notice something that helps calm my anxiousness, though. A freckled, redheaded girl in pigtails and fluffy white boots is walking alongside Craig, her blue eyes looking just as dull as the giant's beside her. I must not have noticed her standing between the guys. A little white half-jacket that matches her pretty shoes hangs unzipped around her torso and a pair of old blue skinny jeans hug tightly around her thin little legs. She's one of my favorite people, and things are always a lot easier when she's around.

Her name is Ruby, and she's Craig's fourteen year old little sister. Usually she rides on the bus with her friends, but every now and then she likes to carpool with us so she can get an extra half hour of lounging around the house. She's another person that I've known since I was small, mostly because of how close I am with her brother.

In the midst of my distracted thinking, I manage to wiggle out of Craig's jacket and fold it into a neat little square in my lap. I can feel the air on my repulsive, exposed arms and it feels so foreign that I keep rubbing my hands over them. I hate how rough and bumpy they feel. It's so gross, but I don't want to move my hands. They're way too small to cover up all of my ugly blemishes, but I'll be god damned if I don't try.

I hear Token pop the trunk as our friends walk around the car to put their stuff inside. They do that to give us some leg room, considering how big Craig's guitar and everyone's bags are.

I'm the only one that refuses to put their stuff in the trunk.

I hear car doors opening so I scoot to the middle seat and fasten the belt tightly around my hips as Clyde and Ruby climb in on either side of me. They're laughing about something as they settle in and slam their car doors shut, but Craig remains emotionless as he does the same. From what I can see of his face his lips are slack and his eyes are groggy as he rubs the sleep out of them, which really surprises me. Craig is rarely tired during the day.

He's one of those people who can't stay up past a certain hour so he's always alert and responsive in the morning while I'm a groggy mess.

It seems that I'm not the only one who had a lot on his mind last night.

He's licking at his lip ring with the split in his tongue as Token pulls out of the driveway. I take the opportunity to timidly poke his side. Craig looks back at me from over his shoulder, obviously a bit sleepy as his eyes scan me curiously. The first thing I notice is that he has all of his jewelry in today instead of wearing some of those clear little bars he puts in his piercings sometimes, and I still can't believe how many he has. A ring and a stud are side by side on the right side of his bottom lip, a hoop is in his septum, three sliver bars are in his eyebrows, and god knows he has at least a dozen earrings in his ears. I was with him when he did most of his piercings.

I still remember the first time he pushed the sharp end of a thumb tack through his earlobes in seventh grade. I still cringe every time I watch him pierce his flesh with a needle.

He also did his tongue split by himself with a piece of fishing line freshmen year, but that looked ridiculously painful.

I hold out the tidy little square that I made of his jacket a bit shakily because I'm so exhausted that I can't hold my hands still, and I really don't want to give it back. I spent too much time coddling it last night and bonded with the thing. I don't really want to let it go.

"Your shirt is sleeveless," he notices aloud as he leans over his seat to retrieve the useless pile of thread I've managed to have a love affair with last night in my desperation. His comment makes both Ruby and Clyde look me over as I clamp my hands back over my breakout in horrified embarrassment.

Craig is the only person that I ever told about how ashamed I am of my arms, albeit I wasn't sure if he was actually listening to me. Talking to him most times is like talking to a brick wall, so I'm never really sure if he's absorbing my words or if they're bouncing off of his thick skull.

Yet, he adds, "You should wear it more," with a bit of a reassuring tone. He seems genuine, and the comment leaves me absolutely awestruck.

"Yeah, looks good," Ruby agrees from beside me, a smile unfolding on her round face. "I don't know why you always wear long sleeves, you have nice arms."

Ruby, unlike Craig, doesn't know about how much I hate the very things she just complimented, so I suddenly feel beyond flattered by the sentiment. I want to thank her, but in mid-sentence I begin to hack and cough into my fist, a side effect of the adventure Craig and I embarked on yesterday.

"Aw, Teacup, are you feeling okay?" Clyde asks in an almost child-like tone of voice when he hears the disgusting noises resonating from my vocal cords. His brown eyes show real concern as he uses my chin as a handle, halting my rocking and turning my head with a gentle movement so that he can examine me. "You look really sick."

"I didn't sleep." This is the first time I've spoken since yesterday afternoon, and I'm embarrassed when my voice cracks and rasps, giving my sentence a choked and harsh sound.

Clyde doesn't care how bad I sound, how nasty I look, how much I wreak, or how sick I might be, and he proves it by pulling me into a little one armed embrace. He knows that talking won't change how bad I feel, and he knows that I wouldn't answer if he asked me if something's the matter, but he does know that keeping his arm around me as I rock back and forward will help to ease my pain.

Clyde and I tend to look out for each other in this unspoken way since he developed his own wide assortment of issues, although his issues don't make him nearly as socially stinted as mine make me.

I lean on him sometimes when I don't want to bother Craig with the metaphorical demons in my head and I need someone else who is fucked in the mind enough to actually understand me. He wasn't always on the verge of being considered a man-child riddled with mind crippling mental diseases, but that was when he was normal, before Craig's family took him in, before his father became an alcoholic, and before he found his sister hanging from a belt in their bedroom closet.

Clyde's actually very troubled, although no one would ever be able to tell unless they peeled away his happy, cheery exterior to reveal all the damaged layers underneath.

Craig wrote a song about it.

Clyde cried when he played it for him.

This slow build of pressure in my gut doesn't help my head when I see the school emerging in the distance.

I knowshe's there, and I'm not looking forward to the day ahead.

**...**

The beautiful twang of Craig's guitar fills the empty space around me.

I'm sitting closer to him than usual with my eyes closed and my head down on my bag, but nobody around the lunch table thinks twice about it because I'm so sick and tired today. I can feel him gently knock his knee against mine under the table as his voice rings out, joining in with Kenny's as they belt the lyrics to a song I have never heard before. I'm not sure if Craig's knee-knocking is an intentional attempt at calming me or if it's just an accident I'm seeking comfort in, but at this point it doesn't really matter to me.

Kenny's sitting on the other side of him today. He's playing in such perfect unison with Craig that their voices seem to melt into one another. Their fingers press down on the strings of their guitars and their arms loosely strum in a relaxed rhythm. I love the way it sounds when they play together, especially because of how unique and pure Kenny's voice is, but when he comes around so do Kyle Broflovski and Butters Stotch. I don't really like them.

Butters is annoying because he always wants to touch me and hug me like I'm his friend even though I barely know him. It drives me insane. I don't like it when people I consider strangers try to touch me, and Kyle's just intimidating for some reason.

They don't like being here because they don't like Craig. I can tell by the weird looks they always give him. Even Butters gets all clammed up and nervous, and he's the kind of person who likes absolutely everybody. I hate it when they look at him like that, like he's nothing but a ticking time bomb or some horrible piece of filth.

He isn't a bomb. He isn't filth. He isn't some awful person who gets off on other people's pain like everybody thinks.

He's nice, he's caring, and he's sweet, like yesterday when he came after me and kissed me in the rain, but no one else knows that side of him because when he treats everyone like they're worthless good for nothings they tend to return the favor.

I think they're afraid of him, and I can't say I blame them. Craig doesn't give them much choice. If anyone says a word to him even slightly out of turn they either get a hateful glare, a spiteful middle finger, or a prompt warning to shut the fuck up. Why wouldn't they be afraid? He's been known to punch people in the jaw before, sometimes for really no reason at all.

It's saddening.

"Excuse me?" a soft little voice asks from behind me. I look up to see who it is and what they want as Craig and Kenny's music stops.

_Bebe?_

This is my spot. Piss off.

She's standing behind me with a lunch tray in her hands. She looks flawless with her perfectly curled hair and cute little tan shorts, waiting as if she expects me to move so that she can sit down next to her boyfriend. That's not going to happen. She usually sits next to him at lunch, and I sit next to him during breakfast. It's part of our wartime peace treaty that obviously isn't working, because I'm refusing to give up this lunch hour. I am not in a very good state of mind right now. I swear to god if I have to sit here and watch her lean up against him one more time today my heart will either wither and die, or I'll explode.

She cannot sit here. This is _my_ spot, and Craig is _my_ friend.

She looks up at him with her dazzling green eyes as if she's expecting him to ask me to move. She's not frustrated, not angry. She's just patient as she stands and waits.

Craig answers her gaze with silence before looking down at me. He frowns as if he just knows how bad I'm hurting inside right now. He probably does know. It's weird how Craig and I can sit in a short silence and feel as though we've just had an hours' worth of conversation, and sometimes I think we're secretly telepathic because we always just _know_.

He wouldn't abandon me like she's asking him to.

He wouldn't.

"Move over, Tweek," he demands, not a shred of compassion on his face. I feel my heart shrivel and sink deep down into my guts once Craig's order registers in my head. I thought that maybe because I'm sick he would let me stay beside him, and he usually lets me stay here if I sit down first. This should be my spot, but Craig doesn't want me here.

He wants her instead.

I'm hesitant to move, but after a few moments of uncomfortable silence I sigh and begin to pack up my things, including a little packed lunch that I've yet to touch. I begrudgingly get up and stand off to the side of the table so that Bebe can steal my spot, which she does after thanking me very politely for giving up my seat.

There aren't any more chairs left, but Token gladly offers his so that I can have a place to sit before going off to find another for himself. Token's seat just happens to be between Clyde and my spot that isn't my spot anymore, leaving me trapped beside Bebe. I lay my head down on my messenger bag, using the hard thing as a pillow after adjusting the textbooks inside. I feel rejected and sad. I don't know if I can stop my tear ducts from overflowing, so I hide my face in my arms and pretend like I'm somewhere else.

I can feel someone drape their arm over my shoulders and lay their head down against one of my arms. I know it's Clyde, and I melt immediately when I feel him rub my back. I'm barely hanging onto consciousness as my eyelids grow heavy, and my heart doesn't ache as bad now that it knows someone's trying to make me feel better.

I've already fallen asleep in class twice today. Once during second period on my desk, and another time during art on Clyde's lap.

I'm still so tired.

I want my spot back.

"Hey, Tweek, are you feeling alright?" I hear a very feminine voice ask me from the seat that should be mine but isn't.

She didn't ask that during breakfast when she gave me my morning hug, but I think that's because she was so worried about getting her homework done before first period that she wasn't paying attention.

I groan out in response, and cool air wafts over my back when Clyde pulls away to sit up in his chair. I peek out from over my acne ridden arm to see her pretty face looking down at me in worry. A red headband is pulling her curly hair away from her forehead and a matching jacket that's too big for her is wrapped around her chest. I can't help but wonder why she sits here. Sure, this is where her boyfriend sits, but she's a pretty cheerleader who looks like a Barbie and we're nothing but a bunch of freaks. I think Token and Kyle are the only two at our table who even remotely fit in around here. Well, besides Kenny, but I think he tends to annoy people more than anything.

"Uh, J-Jesus Christ! Yeah, I'm just sick and it makes me look horrible."

"Hmm," she lets out. One perfectly manicured finger presses against her chin in contemplation. "I think I might be able to help, if you want."

"GAH! Really?" I sputter in disbelief. All my friends asked if I'm not feeling well today, but she is the only one who took the time to actually offer me any help.

I don't know why somebody who's so above me would waste her time trying to make me feel better. I'm nothing compared to her. I'm just the midget weirdo who's addicted to coffee, shakes uncontrollably, and rocks back and forth in the special education room with all the other mentally challenged kids. She's a popular cheerleader with well-to-do parents and the body of a supermodel. She hangs out with football players, takes advanced classes, and absolutely everyone knows her name.

Why does she waste kindness on me?

"Well sure! A little foundation can do wonders, you know," she explains happily as she digs through her pretty pink purse.

She pulls a little tan bottle out of her bag, and Craig and Kenny stop playing so that they can indulge their curiosities with what Bebe and I are doing. I tremble and twitch when I realize everyone is watching us, even Butters and Kyle are glancing our way. Clyde leans over his lunch so that he can watch too, as Token distracts himself with a sandwich and some homework.

It's the heels incident all over again!

"I'm a guy, I d-don't wear makeup," I remind her with my nose scrunched up in displeasure. I wish I could just sit still for two fucking seconds. I'm embarrassing myself because I can't stop trembling.

She lets out a happy giggle as if my massive issue with convulsing doesn't bother her in the slightest. "It's just foundation. It'll make your skin tone even and make the purple under your eyes go away."

I stiffen immediately when she squirts some of the solution on her thumb and leans into me. Her face is too close for comfort, but her fingers are smooth and soft as she spreads the makeup under my eyes. Her fingertips are nothing like her boyfriend's, which are hard and calloused from years of pushing on guitar strings. I'm quivering because such close contact makes me feel ridged and afraid, but Bebe has such a calming air about her that I don't throw a fit about it.

Before I know it she's already got out a sparkly red brush, and she's using it to comb out my wild mane. It's weird being this close with her, watching as Craig keeps an attentive eye on us. She runs her long and slender fingers through my hair as she smooths it out, occasionally swooping the brush down over my unmanageable bangs to keep them in place. The feeling makes me shiver.

"Mind if I use hairspray?" She asks, giving me the goofiest look I have ever seen as if a derp face will somehow persuade me.

I can't hold in a little bout of laughter before I nod my head in agreement.

Goodbye manhood. Hello Bebe's beauty bag.

"Yay!" she gasps with delight before digging in her big purse.

With her sparkly brush and a few sprays from a can, she somehow manages to tame my unruly hair. When she hands me her mirror I'm amazed.

The person staring back at me is barely recognizable as Tweek. I mean, he looks the same as me. He's got the same huge green eyes, little nose, and lopsided mouth, but with the makeup on my face my dark bags are virtually gone, and with the spray my hair actually looks presentable for the first time in my life.

"You look so good!" Bebe compliments excitedly. Everyone is either nodding or shaking their heads as Craig watches me from over his girlfriend's shoulder. His eyes are scanning my face curiously as if he isn't quite sure what to think, but when I give him a nervous little smile he grins almost mischievously back. It's the same weird look that he gave me when Kenny was trying to make me get in Bebe's heels, and the sight makes me shutter down to my bones.

"You like it?" Bebe asks.

I nod much more shyly than I intended to.

"You can keep the foundation if you want it," Bebe offers, holding out the little bottle for me. I'm genuinely dumbfounded by her kindness and generosity as I shake my head. Suddenly I don't feel mad or frustrated with her anymore.

I just feel guilty.

"I didn't know your ears were pierced," I almost whisper timidly to distract her from the offer as I tug on the hem of my beige shirt.

My voice is trembling and small as I speak, it's usually that way when I'm talking to someone I'm not particularly close with. Little white bars are sticking through fresh holes in her perfectly shaped earlobes, and for a moment she feels one of them as if she's making sure it's still there.

Her lightly glossed lips fold into a smile and her eyes light up fondly as she puts away her brush. "Oh! Craig just did them for me last night. It didn't hurt as much as I thought it would." Craig beams with pride as he leans forward to look at his work. She falls back against him with a cute little grin on her face.

So that's where he disappeared to yesterday.

_Bebe, I really wish I could be your friend because you're one of the only people in this god forsaken place who's actually nice to me, but I'm not your friend. Before Craig came to see you he was kissing me. Friends aren't supposed to kiss each other's boyfriends, and I'm really sorry._

I'm so sorry.

I wish could really tell her that, but I'm the kind of monster that has two faces.

It's horrible.

_I'm_ horrible.

He abandons his guitar to wrap his arm loosely around her shoulder, and I can't help but think how good they look together. He's so strong and masculine while she's so dainty and beautiful. Her lovely curves and sweet face just look like they belong where they are now, wrapped comfortably against Craig's muscular side as his sharp features contrast with her soft ones. They're absolutely flawless, a beautiful mesh of ferociousness and grace.

My leg begins to bounce uncontrollably.

"Craig, will you go to the bathroom with me?" I choke out. It's a simple question, but that doesn't make it any less awkward to ask, especially since everyone's staring at me with their brows raised.

Maybe it wouldn't seem so odd if I was a girl. Girls are the ones who congregate in the bathroom, I imagine to put on makeup or gossip like they do in the movies. Guys aren't supposed to do that sort of thing.

I really do have to piss, though, and I'm too tired and wobbly to go alone. I'm afraid I'll finally crash with my fly down and my junk hanging out, leaning against the urinal or sprawled out on the floor. Plus, I just really need to pull Craig aside. I'm not sure what I'll say or do once I get him alone, but we haven't had a chance to talk about what's going on yet. Suffering through this without knowing what he really wants from me is tearing me apart.

Craig gives me a weird look over his girlfriend's shoulder at first, at least until we stare at one another for a few seconds. Our Craig-Tweek telepathy automatically sets in, and when his face changes I know he understands. He doesn't really say anything back, just pops open his guitar case before tucking his most prized possession delicately inside.

"If this is moved so much as an inch when I come back, so help me God I will break all of your fingers off," Craig warns harshly to everyone around the table. Butters and Kyle shutter in nervousness, Bebe sighs disapprovingly, Token and Clyde disregard the threat because it doesn't pertain to them, and Kenny pretends to poke it in rebellion.

Craig smacks him upside the back of the head. Not hard, just as a way to tell Kenny to knock it the fuck off.

I shuffle to the bathroom with my bag in hand. I can hear Craig's heavy footed steps behind me. He's walking incredibly close, just as he does every day when we walk down the halls. I always thought he walked so close just because he doesn't like when hurried students bump me into lockers, but I second guess myself when I feel the cloth of his jacket rub against my exposed arm.

We end up walking past the cafeteria bathroom, down the halls with white tiled floors, past the Home Economics class, and into the senior's bathroom.

I don't know why they call it that. Nobody has to be a senior to use it.

Nonetheless, I know no one else will be there while everyone is in the cafeteria or in class. It's pretty small with only three stalls and two sinks, but it's my favorite bathroom because of how few people use it. It's a lot cleaner than the one in the cafeteria. The walls are a spotless white, and only a few crude insults are scribbled on the insides of the stall doors rather than the mass amounts of graffiti scrawled on the other bathroom's walls. Plus, there's a window nestled high up under the ceiling, letting in streams of real light so that the school can save money on their electric bill. I only like windows in the day time because they let real light from the sun in.

I shove my heavy bag into a corner, and Craig leans up against the white brick wall as I position myself in front of a urinal. It's awkward peeing in front of people. I usually opt for a stall and just piss in the toilet like I do at home, but Craig is the only one in here so I don't really mind.

My fly comes down and I let out a sigh of relief when I feel my bladder empty.

"What the fuck, man. Stop staring," I demand, noticing Craig purposefully sneaking a peek from high over my shoulder.

"Why?" He asks, as if he seriously doesn't understand that staring at my cock as I take a leak isn't a normal thing. "It's nothing I haven't seen before."

I feel my face flush a red hot color.

He has seen it before. That's just because we change in the same room when he spends the night with me, and sometimes we share the bathroom in ways that teenage boys shouldn't. When one of us strips nude and climbs into fresh tub water the other tends to sit on the toilet only a few feet away. I know that's really weird because Token and Clyde said so.

" _Gah_! This is different! I'm taking a piss man! You don't just stare at other dude's dicks while they're doing their business," I snap, but it's just because I'm tired, sad, sick, and really hungry.

"Well then." He looks away, seemingly otherwise unfazed.

He digs around in his pockets like he does when he's looking for his cigarettes. He knows better than to smoke on school grounds. Well, he actually used to smoke at school a lot, but he forced himself to stop after he got caught and suspended over it.

"Erh, you don't have those cancer sticks here again do you?" I ask as I tuck myself back in my jeans.

"No. Digging for them is habit." He explains. I knew that already, but digging in his pockets is something he only does when he gets anxious. Craig rarely ever gets that way, but he knows that I've got something on my mind. It's making him antsy.

I turn to one of the sinks to scrub my hands clean, but I don't realize how bad they're shaking until I grip the faucet. Fuck, I'm all out of whack today. I look up to see a mirror hanging before me. Craig's massive form is towering above me in said mirror. He's standing right behind me, motionless like a granite statue as I marvel at how much bigger he is than I am. He's so tall that the top of his blue hat gets cut off in his reflection, and he completely overshadows my little frame. I can tell by the look on his face that he doesn't want to talk. He rarely has real conversations, and when he does he isn't any good at it. We both know that, and we usually get by just fine with me doing all the talking and him just listening. Today, though, I need him to talk back.

"I'm gonna talk first," I start off shakily, swallowing the pressure in my throat as I explain to the massive man beside me how a conversation works. "And then when I'm done you're going to talk, okay?"

I watch his face in the mirror as he nods solemnly. He actually sort of looks restless and timid, as if he's afraid of what I have to say. He's the only person I consider a best friend, so we need to handle this situation as delicately as possible.

"Eh, Jesus! ... When I told you my secret yesterday I didn't plan to leave with a new one," I start of. I'm rubbing my palms together, feeling the soap suds between my fingers as I stutter and shake. I'm whispering now, so quiet that I'm sure he can barely hear me. "And... nrg, I'm just really confused because I know you don't like guys."

I've never seen him so nervous before in my life, not even when he stood by Bebe's locker and asked her out for the first time. He can't look me in the eyes, and his Adam's apple keeps bobbing like he's swallowing spit in nervousness. I can understand that, there's a lot more at stake when someone plans to cheat on their girlfriend with another guy than there is with just asking a girl out.

"I'm straight," he grumbles while digging deep into his pockets. His voice trickles off into a low murmur as he continues. "But I like you..."

I honestly never expected to hear those words fall out of his beautifully pierced mouth. It takes a whole lot for Craig to confess he even has feelings, let alone for other people.

"Gah! Oh god... Um..." I start to stutter, and my whole body engages in one huge convulsion as all of this really begins to set in. "I like you too- I just... Bebe."

I can see his wavering and conflicted expression still looking down at me in the mirror, and I know he can see me staring up at him timidly. For some reason it's so much easier facing this mess without really having to look at him.

"We already went over this," he grumbles although he's trying to remain tight-lipped. "What she doesn't know won't hurt her."

"B-but what if she finds out?"

"She won't find out if you don't tell anybody." He's getting increasingly restless. I can tell by the tense look on his reflection's face. I don't want him to be uncomfortable or afraid of consequences, because the more uneasy he is about perusing me the less likely it is that he'll want to do things like kiss me again.

And I definitely want him to kiss me again.

"I'm asking too much of you," he sighs out, his face finally turning away from the reflective surface before us. "If you can't even handle a kiss maybe we should forget about this."

"W-what? No! I can handle it." I'm feeling myself panic deep inside. I'm so close to having him. So fucking close, I can't let that slip through my fingers.

Not now, not ever.

"Tweek, look how bad you're shaking..." He warns quietly. "It's not because you're sick."

I swing around to face him, but nearly face-plant into his ribs as I do so. Fuck, why does he have to be so tall?

"Gah! Craig, I promise. No one will ever know." I'm trying not to sound like a desperate freak, but it's hard not to sound like one when I really am. "Not Clyde, or Token, or Bebe, or anybody, I swear."

His hard eyes soften again, just like they always do when he looks down at me. I watch his Adam's apple bob as he exhales, and he runs his fingers up under this hat and through his hair as if he can't make up his mind.

If he can't decide I'll decide for him.

"I know everyone thinks I have a problem with pressure and that I can't keep secrets, and I guess that's sort of true sometimes, but I really can handle this, I promise. No one will ever have to know." I'm rambling, but I don't care.

Craig nods stiffly. He's finally been persuaded as he brings his knuckles to my cheek again, where he hesitantly strokes my face. My bowlegs immediately become jelly when I feel his hesitant show of affection.

He inhales sharply before asking, "Can I come over Friday night?"

**...**

He kicks some brown and orange leaves off the bottoms of his boots before slipping them off and setting his guitar beside my door. The big oak slab is still cracked open behind him, letting the light from my dining room seep out and penetrate the darkness on my porch. I can't stop smiling, and I'm so happy and excited that I'm shaking in my froggy pajamas.

"Were you waiting for me?" he asks as he pushes the door closed. He sounds somewhat surprised to have found me standing in the middle of the room staring at the back door. I've been waiting for him since Token dropped me off from school this afternoon, and I'm so happy he's finally here with me.

"Yeah," I say with a tremble and a squeak before scurrying over to him and throwing my arms around his middle. I can feel the chilly night air he just walked in from on my cheek as I press my face into his ribs, and I swear I can smell autumn leaves lingering on the front of his jacket.

"I'm sorry I'm late," he apologizes quietly. The cold from his big hands seeps through my clothes as he runs them along my shoulder blades.

When he told me he wanted to come over this Friday he said he'd be here around eight because he had some things that he had to do beforehand, but it's nine now. I would ask why he managed to get here an hour later than he promised, but I already know he came from Bebe's house.

I can tell he just saw her because through the disguise of autumn's lovely scents I catch a whiff of her shampoo that smells like morning time. It used to bother me really bad when her stench polluted Craig's smell, but for some reason I don't really care tonight. I think it's because I'm feeling some euphoric sense of accomplishment now that he's here with me instead of there with her. He's not just here to hang out like all the weekends before, either. He's here because he feels for me like he does for his girlfriend, and that makes up for the fact that he just came from her house.

I rub up against him so next time Bebe goes to greet him at her door she'll smell my coffee beans like I smell her shampoo.

"I have the coffee machine going. Um, if you want some," I offer as I look up at him, my arms still snug around his belly. I don't know why I'm so excited and nervous. It's just Craig, after all. He's been here thousands of times before, just never with such scandalous intentions.

"Sure." Craig doesn't really like coffee, but he never says no when I offer it to him.

He follows me into the kitchen, where a freshly brewed pot is waiting for us. He stands in the doorway just looking around as if he had never been here before, despite the fact that he's stood in that same spot more times than I can count.

Our kitchen is actually really pretty. It looks like something straight out of a home improvement magazine with a big shiny fridge and matching appliances. The cabinets are all a dark wooden color, just like the sides of the counters, and the tile floor and the counter tops are all a smooth white marble. There's a little island in the middle of the kitchen where we eat sometimes when we're not in the dining room, and pretty white flowers are positioned all around the room in antique glass vases. Everything in my house stays absolutely spotless because my mom has an uncontrollable urge to clean everything until it sparkles.

She gets really irate and frustrated if anything is out of place, so I have to be careful to make sure everything is exactly as she left it when they get home from work. That's why I never let more than one friend spend the night at a time.

I have to climb up onto the marble countertops because I'm too small to reach the cabinets, and my stepping stool has mysteriously gone missing. This is something I can only do when my parents aren't around because they would flip their shit if they saw me squatting on the counter. When I finally hoist myself up I immediately begin to sift through my family's wide variety of coffee mugs. We have all sorts of them because of my parent's work and my obsession with the beverage, but I usually end up using the ones with my favorite Disney characters on them.

The Lion King ones with Timon and Pumbaa on them are my favorites.

Even though Craig doesn't really like coffee I have a special cup that's just for him. It's his favorite so I don't ever let anybody else use it, even though every now and then I drink out of it when I'm sad. It's a novelty mug that says _fuck you_ across the front in big blue letters. It's vulgar, but I really expected nothing less from Craig.

"Where are your parents?" he asks as he watches me dig through my coffee mug collection. He's never really asked that so nervously before, but I can understand with the circumstances we've found ourselves in. We've been talking about what we're going to do tonight over the last couple days, although they were really small and cryptic conversations over text. He essentially said that he wants to take this nice and slow with another kiss, but a different kind of kiss than we had at the playground. I'm not sure what he meant by that, but the anticipation is killing me.

"They're asleep now," I assure him with a small smile. "We can't be too loud or we'll wake them up."

Somehow I have actually accomplished the impossible task of making my nearly seven foot monster blush, and as soon as I realize why I feel my body convulse and my face go red like a tomato.

"Oh! I... GAH! I didn't mean it like that, pervert!"

The both of us just stare at one another with crimson cheeks as our imaginations suddenly go wild. I hurriedly scramble to find our favorite mugs, and then hop down off the counter before my mind can wander too far into the gutter. I fill mine up to the brim, but I only fill Craig's halfway because I know he won't drink all of it.

I blow on the piping hot liquid as I lead him through the living room and up the stairs to my bedroom. We move quietly through the dark hall and tiptoe past my parent's room so that we won't wake them, and then slip past my vibrantly decorated bedroom door undetected. I love my bedroom. It's really small with nothing but a bed, a dresser, and a little T.V, but my bed is big and covered with fluffy comforters with little green frogs on them. I really like frogs, so I have stuffed animals of them hanging from my ceiling fan by their long, Velcro legs.

Purple Chinese lanterns hang on the ceiling above my headboard to calm my fears of the dark, locks are on about everything that can open, and a bulletin board with pictures of my friends and other paper keepsakes tacked onto it sits atop the white dresser I've had since I was little.

Everything in my room besides my bed is small, including the room itself, so everything a bit cramped. Still, this is the only place in the world that belongs to me, and it's the only place I ever feel completely comfortable.

I believe that looking into someone's bedroom is like looking into their soul, so I guess my soul is really colorful and cozy even though there are a lot of locks on it.

Craig sets his coffee in the little cubby in my headboard before climbing into my bed. I slurp down nearly half of my drink before setting it down beside Craig's. He looks so comfortable under my bed sheets as he pulls open the covers, inviting me to crawl into bed and cuddle up to him. I don't hesitate to slip underneath them. I'm not really sure what's going to happen or what I should even expect, but all of my thought processes come to a slow when I feel his arms wrap me up. Our body heat gets trapped inside of our thick fabric cocoon as one of his big hands finds my fingers under the cloth of my froggy blankets. We lay here for a long time just feeling each other. I like Craig's hands even though they're rough to the touch and a bit cold from his walk to my house in the chilly autumn air. They're really big and warn, and when I press my palms against his I can't help but notice the massive size difference.

Despite my distaste for my teeny size, I don't really mind feeling small when Craig is with me. I curl my little fingers around his hands and puff on each digit to warm them up. His eyes grow heavy and half lidded in the dim purple light of my lanterns as he watches me.

So far we aren't doing anything that we don't usually do. It's weird when I think about it, because we've always held hands and cuddled with each other in bed. It's different tonight, though. Everything's different because I know I don't have to pretend anymore.

"Craig?" I ask, my tiny hands still cupped around his giant fingers. "Do you think... It'd be okay if I kissed you again?"

We sit in silence. He knows that he shouldn't be here, wrapped up with me so intimately like this, and I can tell he's second guessing himself as his eyes turn away from me in a small show of uneasy shame. I feel my unwavering smile slowly die down as my chest fills up with a painful pressure.

Please, don't do this to me.

"You'd look good with a piercing, you know?"

He answers my nervous question with another question, and I'm embarrassed to realize he's changed his mind.

"I... don't like needles," I almost whisper in an obviously heartbroken murmur.

"That's too bad," he mumbles, his gaze suddenly getting heavier as he scoots his body underneath the covers until his chest is pressed up against mine. My eyes widen with confusion when he grazes my face with his knuckles.

"I'd love to give you one."

I part my lips to reply, but I'm left red and speechless as I run my fingers along his jaw, feeling the coarse stubble on his chin.

"Maybe your eyebrow," he breathes out, his voice soft and quiet as he moves forward to press his lips gently against the edge of my brow. I tremble in surprise, and accidentally let out an embarrassing little squeak.

"No? Maybe your earlobes." He moves his mouth to my ear, where he gives me a playful little nip. I can feel the delicious warmth of his wet lips as his teeth gnaw gently at the skin. I gasp quietly as I feel all of my heat shoot to my groin.

"Septum?" He questions in a low and gravelly voice, running the calloused pad of this index finger down the bridge of my nose until it lingers on the little piece of cartilage between my nostrils. I feel the metal of one of his lip rings press softly against the tip of my nose as he plants a small peck there.

"Your lip?" I let out a whimper when his finger moves from my septum to my mouth, where it trails along the soft skin of my lower lip. My entire body trembles as he replaces his finger with a warm, wet, forked tongue.

"Oh, still no?" he asks, his raspy voice seemingly disappointed as he exhales warm puffs of breath on my face. He smells like spearmint gum, and I absolutely fucking love it. He gently coaxes my jaw to go slack by rubbing his lovely bottom lip against mine.

"How about your tongue?" he murmurs. I immediately whimper in desperation as I feel his tongue slip past my quivering lips. It's slick with saliva as the split muscle explores every inch of my mouth, and I can't contain an embarrassing groan as his big hands slide up and down my sides, accidentally pulling up my pajama shirt as he does so. I twist and writhe in his arms as I hungrily push back on his tongue with my own, and I refuse to allow our lips to part as he lifts himself up off the mattress to slide my petite frame underneath of his heavy body.

We spend the rest of the night entangled in each other, moaning and grinding as he teaches me how to use my tongue. As he sucks and nips at my bottom lip I moan out in ecstasy, and his blue hat gets exiled to the edge of my bed so that I can tangle my little fingers in his hair. I don't ever want this to end, but deep inside I know that there's no guarantee that I'll ever feel the warmth of his body so intimately again after this night is over.

Still, I take comfort in knowing he is finally mine, even if it really is just for tonight.


	3. Night

"Ah... W-will it hurt?" I ask, trembling like a cornered field mouse as Craig looms over me. He swallows hard before dragging both halves of his tongue along his rough lips, thinking of how he should word his reply in a way that will console me.

"At first," he murmurs in assurance. I have little choice but to believe him. He is the only one out of the two of us that's done this before, after all.

"You'll be sore later..." he adds in warning.

I take a deep breath, gripping the cloth of his discarded jacket in an attempt to steady myself. I hate to say I've fallen in love with the thing, but it seems to have become my main source of comfort recently.

"Don't j-just shove it in," I beg. No matter how long he prepared me for this I'm horrified at the idea of whatever pain it will bring me. He even let me feel the tip because he thought it would calm some of my fears, but all he managed to do was freak me out even more. I was already scared before he let me touch it only for me to realize how thick it is. There's no way he can pull this off without hurting me.

"Relax, it'll make it better for you," he murmurs, but that's easy for him to say considering he isn't the one who's about to have something jammed into him.

"Ready?" he asks, his voice weighted down as he keeps a steady hand on what he's about to push inside of me.

I nod my head timidly. He's been trying to talk me into this since we first made out a couple weeks ago, and although I was persistent on not wanting to, I eventually caved. I probably gave in because I know this is something he's done with her, and it drives me insane knowing he's done things with his girlfriend that he hasn't with me. I'm still not completely sure about this, but I figure it would be okay to at least give it a try.

"Here it goes," Craig whispers, his eyes half lidded as he positions himself.

I hear a loud clank.

"Ouch! Jesus Christ! I said not to just shove it in!"

"It's a piercing gun, that's how it works." Craig argues coyly, holding the little white thing he just pierced through my earlobe with. I'm fuming as I hold my hand over my aching ear. He has the smallest hint of an amused smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, so I smack him with the sleeve of his jacket.

"Wuss," he taunts while loading the gun for my other ear.

"Ass," I shoot back shakily, only giving him perfect opportunity to both prove my point and gross me out as he flicks his split tongue out of his mouth.

"You look like a Komodo dragon when you do that," I announce with little thought, willing to say just about anything to keep my mind off of what he's doing. "You're a lizard, Craig."

"I should tattoo scales on my face," he replies emotionlessly, easing me up and making me chuckle a bit. A cold, wet cotton ball gets rubbed onto my earlobe, making me shiver.

It hurt just a second ago, so it's obviously going to hurt this time too. I can feel little else but fear and anticipation as he pushes in on the gun, making sure it slides smoothly before using it to jam another piece of metal into my earlobe. Another clacking noise assaults my eardrums as the sharp, thick end of the earring jabs through my skin, leaving me whining from the painful sting.

Craig backs away to pull a little mirror out of his makeshift piercing kit, which is really nothing more than one of those cheap, black bags from Hot Topic that has _music=life_ bolded on the front. It's filled with random tidbits he uses to punch holes in his skin and shove metal rods into them. It makes me shutter when I realize that's what I just let him do to my ears. I take the handle of his mirror and peer inside at the other Tweek, turning my head from side to side so that I can get a good look at Craig's work. I chose a couple of little silver earrings that I thought wouldn't be too noticeable, and I'm surprised to see they don't look half bad. Craig is smiling as he watches me fiddle with his mirror. It's not just one of his little half smiles; it's a real one like he had when Bebe showed off her earrings to the lunch table a couple weeks ago. It makes me feel really good when he smiles at me like that instead of her.

My war with his pretty blond girlfriend has only gotten more intense since Craig's been spending nights with me, but I think she still hasn't noticed.

"I like it," he says simply, that dumb grin still on his face while he leans over to see inside the mirror. I shake as I feel him pressing up against me. My cheeks tint a slight red at feeling him so close. I put the mirror face down onto the table so my reflection can't get out, and then lean into the back of my stool to escape him. It doesn't do me any good because when I fall back he starts fiddling with my earlobe.

"What's your issue?" I ask, confused as he takes a hold of my left earring with his over-sized fingers and turns it, making me wince a bit. I think he's using my new piercings as an excuse to touch me.

He always needs an excuse to touch me.

He doesn't say anything back, just lets his wide grin die down into a small smile as he drops his hands into his lap, finally giving my earlobes a break.

Craig and I are actually some really boring people. The most excitement we usually have when he's over is when I burn our grilled cheese or I have spasms over our favorite shows, so the last couple weeks have been interesting to say the least. He's been coming over after school a lot to see me.

Sometimes we'll just goof off. We'll hang out in the living room to watch a movie or he'll get out his guitar and play a few songs for me, but there are other times when we aren't so innocent. Those times are usually spent in my bedroom, because the last thing I'd need is for my parents to walk in and catch me with my hands down Craig's pants.

I don't think they'd really care, but I would still like to avoid as many awkward situations as I can.

Even though our relationship has somehow become intimate nothing really feels any different until his girlfriend comes around.

He's still the same Craig who drinks tea with me on the back porch and played spaceman with me when we were little. He's the same Craig that carries me around like a safety blanket and checks out my windows for stalkers so I can sleep soundly. He's still the same best friend that I've always had, except we like to kiss and touch when no one else is around.

Outwardly, nothing much has really changed. Then again, neither of us mention the tangled, moaning messes we've been making out of ourselves either. Even when we're completely alone we keep our lips tight about the subject, refusing to utter a single word about our little affair even when our tongues are working against one another and his hands are sliding under the elastic of my pajama pants. We go about our days as if this thing we created isn't even happening, and obviously Craig in particular likes to shove it under the rug. Still, our usual touches and hand holding seems to linger somehow. That's mostly my fault, because I'm finding it hard to let go once I have him in my grasp. I'm getting dangerously attached, even more so than I already was, and the more time we spend in secrecy the more my heart begins to slip out of my fingers. It's gotten especially bad since I've been lucky enough to wake up completely entangled with him, a privilege that was once reserved only for her.

I used to wake up to Craig cuddling with me before he started sneaking over to mess around, but recently it's been something completely different. He likes to lay on top of me with both arms wrapped around my middle. His cheek gets buried into my chest as he holds me much closer than he ever would have before. I honestly don't know what to make of it because I never conceived I would find myself in such a situation. I usually just lay there underneath him, soaking up the warm bubbly feeling that fills up my belly as I cradle his head against my chest and nestle my nose into the top of his hair. I can't help but wonder how often she gets to have him like that in the morning, more relaxed and vulnerable than I ever had the pleasure to witness before.

Usually, Craig looks mean even in his sleep. There's permanent scowl plastered on his face as if he still has the ability to kick someone's ass without having to be conscious. For some reason he doesn't look mean the mornings after we find ourselves kissing and touching. I might dare to say he even looks happy with his brow relaxed and his lips curled into the faintest of smiles. That early morning smile is unlike anything I've ever seen before. I mean, I never even knew such a thing existed until I woke up to it, and the more sides of him that I see the more I want this.

Of course, I only get to see that rare little smile if he accidentally falls asleep with me instead of going home like he's supposed to. I like when that happens, because not only do I get to fall asleep and wake up with him, I also get to spend the morning with him before Token comes to pick us up for school. It's really nice to have someone here in the morning, because I almost always have to spend my mornings alone. That's mostly the fault of my neglectful parents and their demanding work schedule.

This just happens to be one of those mornings, and I couldn't be happier. I don't even feel nervous about going to school like I usually do. I don't think about how painful it's going to be in just a few minutes when we're at the breakfast table and she pulls me in for my morning hug, either. It's hard to think about anything that hurts when I'm with Craig, because when it's just the two of us like this I can't even remember what pain feels like.

Of course I'm always reminded later, and it only hits harder every time.

"It's raining again," I mention idly while fingering the jewelry in my ears. He told me I shouldn't touch them without my hands being washed, but I can already tell that little rule won't go without being broken.

As his eyes peer out of the kitchen window to watch the water droplets streaking down the glass, I wonder if I'm the only one that's noticed it rains a lot when we're together like this.

The water is being accompanied by the same faint and bluish glow that surrounded us the first time we kissed, back when all of this started. There is no booming thunder or lightning flash like there was that gloomy evening, just a gentle drizzle showering the world outside of my kitchen.

"Wanna go on the porch?" I ask. That's something we usually do whenever there is a shift in the weather. We like to go outside and sit on my dad's big porch swing to watch the mountains in the distance, marveling over how easily they stand against the harsh elements. It's something that Craig and I have done for as long as I can remember. In fact, my back porch was where he played his guitar for the first time in eighth grade. We sat out on the same floral patterned swing we always have while he mindlessly plucked away at the strings. He learned new chords and tried to figure out the proper way to strum as the fresh air of spring wafted up onto the porch. That feels like it was so many eons ago, yet I can still remember just the way he moved. His fingers were awkward and untrained on the neck of his new found passion, and his strumming was stiff as he let out a few untuned plucks. Even though he was merely a novice who couldn't even tune the instrument he was cradling in his lap I couldn't help but be absolutely in awe of him.

I still am.

He doesn't look too interested in hanging out on the porch today, though. He just shakes his head with his eyes still trained outside the window nestled over the kitchen sink, his usual blank expression yet again occupying his face. I don't question him by asking why, so we end up just sitting at the kitchen island.

I fiddle with my earrings as he watches what's happening outside. The wind rustles the brown and yellow leaves of our neighbors' trees as water dribbles down onto Main Street, leaving everything looking fresh and beautiful in the early morning light. No matter how lovely the world outside may be, I still find it hard to focus on anything but the side of my beloved friend's face. It still bothers me that I have to keep referring to Craig as my friend. Obviously we're much more than that, but it's not like we're together.

Not like I want, anyway.

Everything is quiet in my tidy kitchen besides the sound of water drops thumping against glass and a faint clicking that I can only describe as Craig gnawing at one of his lip rings. He's been doing that a lot lately.

"Did you like last night?" he asks out of the blue. His eyes are still trained outside as he breaks the silence with a causally put question.

He asked so nonchalantly that one would think he was simply wondering about the time, but he still can't look at me. Those pale blue eyes of his are avoiding my blushing face. In the two weeks that he's been seeing me this is the first time he's outright mentioned our scandalous escapades, and I'm absolutely baffled that he brought it up.

That's not why I'm blushing, though. I'm blushing because I know why he chose today of all days to finally break our code of silence. Last night he was laying on top of me as I licked and sucked at his tongue like he taught me, and we rubbed each other through the cloth of our pajama pants the same way we had done every other time before. He allowed himself to take it a step further than usual, though. He slid his knee in between my thighs, and then spread my legs apart before jarring forward with an experimental thrust. I could feel how hard he was as it rammed against me, and I couldn't stop myself from moaning into his mouth. Blinded by the blurry fog of need I silently plead for him to keep going. So he did, obliging my whimpers by rocking against me. He held my legs apart with a strong grip as his breath hitched in my ear.

That's why I'm blushing.

"Oh! I... I thought it was... nice," I blurt out in embarrassment, hiding my face in my hands when I realize how stupid that reply must have sounded.

He lets out a puff of air that sounds suspiciously like the beginnings of a laugh before replying quietly. "Me too."

We both sit in a comfortable silence for the next few minutes, and I occupy myself by slurping at my morning cup of coffee. A weird pressure pulls at my chest when I glance over at the side of his face. Every piercing he has is occupied with jewelry, and his guitar case is squished between his knees as he sits so still I can hardly believe he's a living person rather than a statue. A blue long sleeved shirt hangs loosely from his shoulders as he wraps his fingers around the caps of his knees. I want so badly to throw my arms around his middle and squeeze him as tight as I can.

"Token's here," Craig murmurs as he watches our friend's car pass by the kitchen window. He lifts his case up onto his shoulder and leaves his piercing kit on the island as he moves around the counter. I hop down off of my stool and scurry after him, my feet thumping against the linoleum as I reach out and grasp his thumb. I hoist my bag up over my shoulder, and we take a moment at the front door for me to slip on my sandals. I know as soon as he turns that handle all my happiness and bliss will disappear. It will be replaced only with a horrible aching knowing that he won't be giving me anymore little caresses or kisses until the next time we find ourselves behind a locked door.

This is my least favorite part of his visits.

He sucks in a heavy breath as if to prepare himself, so I follow suit before he pushes past the doorframe. We jog through the rain to get to Token's car. Luckily it's only a gentle shower, so we don't get too wet before slipping into the leather interior.

Token must be confused to have found Craig at my house at seven o'clock on a school morning for the second time this week. I can only see part of his face from where I'm curled up in the back seat, but he looks disapproving, He was always firm in his belief that school comes first and crashing at a friend's house comes after. He only proves my suspicions when he says, "I take it you two had another sleep over."

Craig nods while wiping the crust out of his eyes with his knuckles, the only evidence of our late night adventures.

"I'm glad that you two are spending more time together and all," Token says before pulling out of my driveway and heading down the street to pick up Clyde, where he _should_ have found Craig this morning, "but maybe you two should save the sleepovers for the weekend. I mean, what do you guys do on a school night anyway?"

I can see Craig shrug from the passenger seat before saying tonelessly, "Just fuck around."

**...**

This is the hardest thing I've ever had to suffer through, and it's something that relentlessly replays over and over the same way every day with no regards to how I feel. It never gets any easier.

With every day that passes by it never gets any easier to watch her take my spot at lunch and his fingers in hers. They're the same fingers that he uses to stroke my cheeks when she isn't around to take him away from me. I can't help but wonder if I'm ever lingering in the back of his mind when he dares to touch her with those unnaturally big hands of his.

I know she's in the back of his mind when he touches me. I can tell because sometimes he'll stop what he's doing and just hover over me with the tips of his fingers hesitating inside of my underwear. His eyes change from hot and heavy to sad and conflicted. Usually when he gets that way all it takes is a moan or a kiss to get him back, but one time he pulled away from me when I tried to kiss him.

I didn't like that.

It made my stomach have knots in a really bad way.

I'm not feeling as good as I did this morning, but that's to be expected. It doesn't help that our table is filled with people I don't know well. Yet again Kyle and Butters decided to tag along with Kenny, so they're sitting directly across from Token and I at our circular table. It's only making me even more uncomfortable than I was before. I lean back in my chair and smile at Clyde, who is sitting on the other side of Token, as if my insides aren't rotting away. He's going on excitedly about something, about how he thinks we should hang out at Token's after school today because Craig's been at my house so much that I haven't been over to anyone else's in a while. It's sort of hard to focus because my mind is elsewhere, but I agree with him, leaving out the details of Craig's visits while apologizing for not making the time to hang out.

My voice is shaky and unsure, just like it always is when I'm in public. I try my best not to look behind me where Craig's fingers are surly interlaced with hers. When they're together I try my best to just not look, because every time I do I just want to smash my head into the tabletop until either the wood or my skull gives way.

That's actually a really bad habit that I had when I was younger. My parents and I have never been very good at interacting with one another, and when I was only a small child they would make me so overwhelmed that I would slam my skull into the dinner table. I knocked over cups and jarred plates as I rammed my forehead into the wood over and over, screaming _I want out_ at the top of my lungs.

They always went about what they were doing as if their only son wasn't trying to paint their tablecloth with his brains. They blocked me out just like always.

I've learned to control those urges much better as I grew up with the help of therapies and medications. Pretty much all throughout my life up until freshman year I was going through shrinks and doctors like there was no tomorrow. I was so unstable just the littlest thing could send me into a violent fit. Most of those fits involved me hurting myself somehow, whether or not I meant to. My injuries would vary from a few cuts and bruises to a busted head or a broken nose. Token and Clyde sort of faded out of my life during the pinnacle of my inward struggle because they were dealing with their own problems and I had become way too much for them to handle.

Craig refused to part from me, unwilling or unable to leave me to my own devices.

Throughout eighth and much of ninth grade it was just the two of us, partly because Token and Clyde had seemingly vanished and partly because Craig and I preferred to isolate ourselves from other people.

That was back when we were virtually inseparable, back when we practically lived at each other's houses, and nobody could say one of our names without tacking the other's onto it. I have so many happy memories from that time, but, despite my nostalgic feelings, things weren't always good. I had problems back then that he was forced to deal with, and I can't believe he stuck around after all the insane shit I put him through.

Then again, Craig was never very good at letting go.

Clyde finally rejoined us around freshman year. I remember how nervously he shuffled over to Craig's locker, tears building up in his eyes as he stood before us. He confided in us that his sister, Monica, had been taken to a hospital somewhere far away.

By hospital I mean asylum, sadly that became a twisted precursor to her tragic and early end.

I guess after they took his sister away all he wanted was his friends back, so Craig and I acted as if he never left to begin with because we'd missed him so much. Of course, Token eventually followed him back to our table, and our group was once again complete.

I needed my friends then, and I still need them now. Craig was the unwavering support I needed through my darkest days, Clyde was the one who made me realize I needed to change, and Token had the level head that kept me on track. Without the safety net they provided me there's a very good possibility that I wouldn't be here today, and I don't like to think about where I would be without them.

Every now and then I can still feel a fit coming on. I can always tell when one is coming because it feels like someone rips open my skull and pours a slushy on my brains. I get so upset that I would like nothing more than to run headfirst into a wall. When I get that way I remember a rhyme my current therapist taught me:

_When you can't stay composed and everything goes south,  
Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth._

I used that catchy little gem to help keep myself from exploding multitudes of times, and I realize that I'm a lot better at keeping my feelings hidden than I get credit for.

Right now is a pretty good example of that, because although on the inside I'm screaming so loud that my lungs are imploding on the outside I have the same nervous little smile and trembling, quiet voice I always have. Pretending is just simply something that I've become accustomed to over the years. I had to pretend countless times that I wasn't on the verge of exploding, perfecting my fake smile until no one could see through it anymore.

When I was alone with Craig before all this came to light I had to use that fake smile often. I packed up my feelings and hid them away somewhere that not even I could reach them, but when I finally confessed my secret to Craig I ended up with an even dirtier one, ultimately swapping pretending in front of him for pretending in front of the rest of the world. That's okay, though. I'm used to pretending, and if that's what it takes to keep Craig coming back to me then that's what I'll do.

I don't care how bad it hurts me.

In my misery I allow my body to go limp, falling over onto Token's shoulder as he flips through the pages of an advanced placement textbook. He's been studying really hard recently, much harder than he ever had before, no matter how impossible that might sound.

"Hello, Teacup," he acknowledges pleasantly without looking up from his book. "Tired?"

"A little," I reply almost groggily.

A small and sloppy smile has found its way onto my face at hearing him address me by my pet name, which is something he usually only does if I'm really upset or do something he thinks is funny.

It may be endearing now, but truth be told I used to hate my nickname. Clyde came up with it in seventh grade when the four of us were hanging out at the park one afternoon.

It started off as a joke when he said I was the human equivalent to a teacup Chihuahua. At first they used it to tease me and pick fun at my tiny stature, but it quickly transformed into something endearing when Clyde started using it more compassionately. I eventually heard it so many times that I started to turn around thinking someone was calling for me when the word happened to be brought up in conversation.

Now-a-days Clyde calls me by my nickname so often that he's completely replaced Tweek with Teacup in his vocabulary, and it's spread to Ruby and Mrs. Tucker because they hear it from him so much. The whole town would probably be calling me that by now if I didn't take it as an insult from anyone who isn't within my inner circle. My pet name is special, so it just doesn't feel right when people who aren't special say it.

"Tweek, aren't you hungry?" a gentle voice asks quietly from the left of me. I convulse in anxiety and accidentally jerk on Token's arm, but he doesn't seem to care.

Still, I tremble and quiver as I look back over my shoulder to find a gorgeous blond girl looking at me expectantly. Craig is playing his guitar now. The sound is mixing in with Kenny's while their voices ring out, mingling and fading into one another as they play some sort of duet, but she is still touching him. I can tell because one of her hands is missing from the table, and I'd be willing to bet that she's got said hand groping at his thigh. I don't like that she's allowed to touch him so shamelessly.

Bebe has been making a habit of bothering me at lunch time, and it's hard to be mad at her because she always has the sweetest intentions. Whether it's out of concern or simply because she wants to strike up conversation she's always so genuinely kind about it, so no matter how badly it annoys me I don't have the heart to tell her to buzz off.

"W-what?" I ask, dumbfounded by the question. I would get all pissy and say that it's out of line for her to be questioning my eating habits. However, she has greeted me every morning with a hug for the past year or so, so I suppose it really isn't all that intrusive for her to be concerned for my wellbeing.

"I mean... I just noticed you haven't been eating at lunch is all."

"Oh," I grumble, "I ran out of m-money in my lunch account."

That's not a lie. More like an excuse, considering I usually pack lunches. Though, it's also not a lie that I tend not to eat them. I figured it doesn't matter either way because I hardly eat much. Most of it would have ended up in the trash if I didn't donate it to Kenny. I don't know a whole lot about his home life, but I assume it's less than satisfactory considering I've never seen him buy a school lunch and he seems to rely on the charity of his friends if he wants to eat. That's why I've been giving him my leftovers instead of Clyde.

"Do you want something? I can buy you a plate," she offers with a smile.

_Bebe, you're making it incredibly hard for me to hate you, and if I can't hate you than I have to hate myself. Would you please stop being a nice person for two minutes so I'll stop feeling so bad?_

I see Craig glance up at me from his guitar, his nimble fingers still dancing over the strings as Kenny harmonizes with his otherworldly vocals. Realizing that he is watching me with those piercing eyes does very little to calm my nerves, because I know why he's watching me.

He doesn't trust that I can keep this secret we have. He's reminded me with that sharp stare more than once that I need to keep quiet. When he gives me that look I wish I could punch him for doubting me.

Situations like this are just way too much fucking pressure.

"Oh no... I-I couldn't let you do that," I sputter while waving my hands, trying to look as disinterested as possible.

"I could!" Kenny blurts out excitedly from across the table, putting a screeching halt to whatever song they were playing and leaving Craig looking beyond irritated.

"Ken!" Kyle scolds from beside said blond, looking about a second away from wagging his finger like his uptight mother. "Don't be rude, she didn't offer you anything."

"Ken?" Craig repeats as if it's the most ridiculous thing he's ever heard. "You have a nickname for your nickname?"

I chuckle at just how dumbfounded he looks, but no one else even seems to notice as they talk over him.

"No, it's okay! I can get Kenny a little something, too, if he wants," she says while standing up, pushing out her seat with the back of her legs as she does so.

"Holy fuck, Bebe. You're the most amazing person that has ever graced planet earth," Kenny raves. Even though he's simply showing his excitement at having his own plate Craig still shoots him the dirtiest look I have ever seen. He is obviously not at all pleased with such amazing compliments being tossed at his girlfriend from the school's self-proclaimed horn dog.

As usual, Kenny is completely unaffected by the glare as he shoots up from his chair and immediately begins to gravitate toward the empty lunch line. He's so elated that he doesn't even think to put down his guitar until Kyle laughs out how hard it will be to carry a tray if his hands are already full.

I have never seen someone so excited for food before, not even Clyde on the Tuckers' taco Tuesdays.

"Come on, Tweek," Bebe coaxes, making gestures with her arm to hurry me along. I really don't want to get up and go with her just so she can suffocate me with undeserved generosity, but I also would really hate to be rude or offensive by objecting to it.

I glance over at Craig, hoping that by the look in my eyes he will see how conflicted I am and give me some sort of direction. He seems to understand my wide eyed expression, but looks just at a loss as I am. I glance over at Token for a second opinion, shaking like a leaf just from thinking of walking off with people I really don't care all that much for.

"Don't look so horrified," Token chuckles. "It's just a few feet away, you'll be okay."

Token always thinks I'll be okay, but he has no idea how loud I'm screaming inside right now.

I don't want to go up to the lunch line and be alone with Kenny and my best-friend-with-benefits' girlfriend. I can barely take being with them when we're surrounded by people. It just doesn't feel right, but everyone at the table has their eyes on me. They're watching like they're expecting me to get up and walk off with these two. The one stare that matters is Craig's, and his eyebrows are pinched and his lips are pushed firmly together. I think he really doesn't want me to go, but I can't handle all of this fucking pressure with so many people looking at me.

_In through your nose,_

_Out through your mouth._

With a hesitant sigh I pry myself off of Token's arm, snatching my big heavy bag off of the table and hoisting it over my shoulder. I'm doomed to trail along behind Bebe and Kenny. I keep looking back over my shoulder at my friends in my anxiety. Clyde waves at me with a reassuring smile on his face, but I don't feel reassured at all as we weave around a few full tables, one of which is occupied by the cheerleaders. Bebe used to sit there, and I wish she never stopped.

Kenny is practically jogging ahead of us. His ripped up old blue jeans are barely holding together as he shoves his hands deep inside their pockets.

We don't look like we belong together at all.

Kenny looks like he's been living out of a cardboard box. He's dressed in what are essentially rags as his ratty blond hair hangs down past his shoulders. He's long overdue for some shampoo and a haircut. Bebe looks like the privileged young woman she is, a lovely yellow blouse is wrapped pleasantly around her torso as a flowing white skirt clings to her hips and cascades down around her thighs.

I probably look the most out of place, considering I look like a mentally challenged twelve year old who can't control his own limbs. None of my clothes match, all of my buttons are in the wrong holes, my hair looks like it hasn't been brushed, and I can't stop twitching.

Bebe corrals Kenny and I through the doorway to the lunch line like a mother hen to her chicks. She lets me go ahead of her as Kenny scrambles for the hot foods.

I don't really like the lunch line. Everything from the floor to the ceiling is white, people I don't know are always bumping into me, and the lunch ladies with their ugly scrubs and hair nets remind me of nurses. I don't really like nurses very much. Despite my complaints, we usually have a good food selection; corn dogs, pizza slices, and chicken nuggets lay out today for students to drop onto their plates. I grab a tray from the rack, and timidly slide it in front of Kenny because he was too busy drooling to grab one on his way inside.

"What am I allowed to get?" he asks, leaning over the counter with an unbelievably large grin spread across his face. There's no doubt that this is something he doesn't get to do often.

"I just put money in my account," she replies. "Get extras if you want."

Kenny excitedly gets a tray of pizza and corn, but I just get a pack of pop-tarts because they're the cheapest thing in the line. She tries to insist that I get a plate, but I think she can tell how incredibly uncomfortable I am. I'm gnawing at my thumbnail and my eyes are darting back and forth from Kenny to my pop-tarts because I don't have the guts to look her in the eyes.

It might just be because I have a messed up head, but I think I can still faintly hear Craig's guitar playing. That makes me feel a little less like a frightened animal and a little more human.

"What's the matter? I don't bite," Kenny says. He's standing behind Bebe as she punches in her lunch number, her bright red nails clicking against the grey keypad as she does so. He raises his brow, smirking as he adds, "...Unless you're into that kind of thing."

My face flushes in shock and confusion, at least until I realize he must have noticed my horrified expression and thought I was gawking at him. I only seem to be able to reply in a long string of embarrassed babble, which earns me a rather interesting and even wider grin from Kenny. I look down at the floor almost immediately, feeling overwhelmed and mortified by his flirtatious advances.

"You'll have to ignore him," Bebe chimes in, trying to ease me as she yet again puts in her number after a seemingly failed attempt. The lunch lady is waiting at her little computer for the number to go through, but she looks like she's about out of patience. "You know what a pervert he can be."

"Pervert? That isn't very nice," Kenny argues, although that big smile is still on his face. "I prefer sexual deviant."

"Well, no matter what you call it you're making him uncomfortable," she says as she finally punches in her code right.

"Oh come on, Craig is the definition of uncomfortable. If Tweek can handle him on a daily basis I'm sure he could handle me," Kenny replies as if it's a sure thing, but he is very, very wrong.

"I disagree," I squeak out timidly as if I'm not sure I'm allowed to be speaking. My voice sounds high pitched and hoarse as I cling to the heavy strap of my messenger bag.

"Huh?" Kenny questions in utter disbelief. "There's no way I'm more intimidating and awkward than Godzilla. He's like eight feet tall, and if you just look at the guy he'll give you a glare like he wants to murder you."

Bebe seems to have really gotten a kick out of Kenny's description of her boyfriend, but I'm just left nervous because I feel obligated to plead my case and defend my friend.

"Craig can be scary sometimes, but... um, he's actually really nice... and you're sort of a..." I trail off, trying my best not to offend anyone.

"Sexual deviant?" Bebe fills in my blank with a laugh.

"Um... yeah."

Kenny pouts as if I've broken his heart, and Bebe giggles at his expense. "You guys are mean to me, why am I even friends with you?" he jokes, continuing with his quivering bottom lip as he follows Bebe out of the line.

"Friends?" I blurt out. For some reason, I'm in complete awe of the word.

"Well yeah, we see each other every day," he replies, his trademark grin unfolding ear to ear as if it's definitive proof of his assumption.

I think Kenny has a warped perception of friendship, because just seeing someone every day doesn't make them your friend. There are people who hate each other that see one another every day. Still, he looks so sure of himself that I would hate to correct him just to make him feel bad, and the more I think about it the more flattered I feel.

I've never really considered anybody outside of my group a friend, at least not enough for it to count, and it sort of leaves a weird swelling feeling in my chest knowing somebody likes me enough to call me that. Not that I really like Kenny that much, though. My first real impression of him was made last year when he threw a homoerotic remark at Craig and me. It ultimately earned him a swift punch in the face from the more violent of the two of us. Somehow that punch is what lead them to start meeting up to play guitar together, because fuck logic.

Whatever little bit of good I feel comes to a crashing halt when we finally return to our table and Bebe slips into the seat that should be mine but isn't. Every time she puts her hands on Craig I just want to kick and scream. I want to tell her that he's mine, that he's always been mine, and that she can't have him.

_In through your nose,_

_Out through your mouth._

It hurts me. It hurts me really bad, not that anyone can see it through my quivering smile. Like I said, I'm used to pretending, and if that's what it takes to keep Craig coming back to me then that's what I'll do.

I don't care how bad it hurts.

**...**

"Wait, so you're still going to have the Halloween party at your house again this year, right?" Clyde asks before shoving a potato chip in his mouth.

"Of course, we're just getting rid some of our old decorations to make room for some new ones," Token informs us as we all lounge around his kitchen. I'm lying on top of the Blacks' kitchen counter. I'm sprawled out over the hard surface as if it's the most comfortable thing I've ever encountered. ( _Pun totally intended_ ) Clyde and Token are sitting to the left of me, tucked comfortably into their fancy stools as they munch away at a bag of Doritos. Craig is sitting at a stool to my right. He looks just as pissed at the world as always while he lays his head down on my bony little hip to try and relieve his migraine. I refused to get up when Mrs. Black was done making snacks, so I now have a plate of finger sandwiches laying on my stomach as I become one with the tabletop.

"Oh, cool! You guys are going to keep the zombies, though, right?" Clyde asks excitedly.

"Yeah. We're getting rid of a lot of the decorations that go in the kitchen to make room for a new zombie, actually. Well… half a zombie. It's got some sort of motion sensor in it. It'll crawl after you," Token says, obviously far more excited about this grotesque monstrosity than I am.

"GAH! What?! Why would someone make something like that?!" I nearly shriek in horror. I'm trying not to convulse because I am a good counter, and good counters don't knock food onto the floor.

"To scare people like you," Token laughs.

Halloween is the most fun time of year for us, for some reason there is something so alluring about the one night we get to dress up in ridiculous outfits and run amuck. Of course I have a lot of fun until I have to tiptoe around all of the Blacks' insane decorations. I'm absolutely horrified of walking down their driveway only for their animatronic vampire to spring out of his coffin and make me piss myself. Apparently I'll have a new worst enemy that could possibly outdo Count Dracula if Token is serious about this new zombie.

They already have a couple of the damn things, but the older ones only stand there and moan at passersby. They occasionally shift from side to side as they stare visitors down with half-rotted plastic faces. I absolutely hated those things until Clyde dressed them up in cowboy hats last year, and every time one moaned at Craig he'd give it a dirty look as if it said something to offend him. I may have grown an awkward soft spot for our animatronic zombie friends, but I swear to god if I walk into the kitchen and there's half a person crawling across the floor that _suddenly starts coming after me_ I'm going to have a fucking attack.

Although it isn't even October yet the Blacks are already planning out their annual Halloween party. They go all out, and being filthy rich definitely helps to transform their civilized mansion into a thrilling horror house. There are a couple other families that throw their own little parties, but nothing can compare to the frightening shit the Blacks set up every year. They pretty much deck out their entire house in insane and rather horrifying decorations, like fog machines, paintings that watch you as you walk down the corridors, and horrible robotic things that should have never been invented, like the zombies, Dracula, and a wiggling hanging man that they string up in the coat closet to frighten unsuspecting partygoers. I think that will be one of the first decorations to go this year, considering it could trigger Clyde's flashbacks. Monica ended her life only about a year ago, so the hanging man would surly dump a heap of salt in his still-open wounds.

As I was saying, once the house looks like something straight out of a horror film they set up a food bar, put some Halloween worthy movies on in their theater, and tell the neighborhood to have at it. Practically the entire town shows up, and since Token is a pretty popular guy he and Clyde spend the whole night socializing. Of course, Craig and I usually lock ourselves in our favorite guest room by the time all the guests arrive.

Neither of us fair very well in a house full of people, so we stay locked away upstairs where we can watch movies and gorge ourselves until we run out of food and Craig has to slip downstairs to retrieve more for us. Every Halloween is pretty much the same in that way. By the way things have been going, though, Craig and I will be doing a lot more than just watching movies when we lock ourselves in that bedroom.

"I'm thinking about being a werewolf this year," Clyde announces while leaning back in his chair. "Hey bro, do you think mom and dad will take us to that new Halloween store? I heard that they have all kinds of things already."

I can't help but think it's cute when he calls Mr. and Mrs. Tucker mom and dad, although I guess that's what they've really become to him since they took him in.

"We still have like a month and a half left to worry about that," Craig groans out as Token picks a finger sandwich off of the plate on my stomach, for I have finally found my calling as a piece of furniture.

"Aw, but if we wait last minute they won't have any good costumes left?" he whines. Craig lets out a frustrated noise, so Clyde diverts his attention to me. "Hey, what do you wanna be this year, Teacup?"

"Clyde, I am _obviously_ not a teacup. I am a _table_ ," I blurt, gesturing at the plate of food on my stomach and drawing out my words as if we had gone over this a thousand times before.

Both Clyde and Token burst out into laughter, upsetting the sickly giant who's using me as a pillow. Craig groans, and then rubs his forehead so hard against my bony hip that it feels like he's trying to fuse his skull into my pelvis.

"Ouch," I groan before taking a firm hold of his yellow poofball and plucking his hat off of the top of his head to make him stop. I think he just growled at me, but it does little more than make me chuckle before I start playing with his inky strands of hair to help soothe him.

Craig's always been prone to massive headaches, just like his mom and sister. Sometimes they get so bad that he'll just lie in his bed all day long, in too much agony to move, but also in too much pain to fall asleep. It's really the only thing that can stop him in his tracks, and they've always been pretty frequent. I like to try my best to make him feel better. Over the years I've developed habits like running my hands through his hair, rubbing his back, or playing with his ears to ease his pain. There really isn't much else that can be done. His migraines are incredibly severe, and they are something so common in their family that they've coined it _The Tuckers' Curse_.

The conversation about Halloween is quickly picked back up where it left off, but as I coddle Craig like a sick kitten I can't help but wonder if our friends ever find our closeness odd. We can be kind of touchy in school. It's a given that he'll pick me up and carry me, or I'll cling desperately to his thumbs. When we're alone with just our friends, though, we've always felt comfortable enough to slip into a completely different sort of affection that no one else gets to see.

He'll just rest his head on my knee or let me lay against him much closer than most would even dare attempt. It's nothing inappropriate, just more small hugs and friendly hand holding than we would be comfortable doing with anyone else.

Well… more than _I_ would be comfortable doing with anyone else.

We've always been that way around them, though, so I bet Token and Clyde have become so used to seeing me latched to Craig's side that they don't even give it a second glance when his head is laid down on my hip, especially not when he has a migraine and I'm impersonating Token's counter. Still, I can't help but be a bit paranoid of them growing suspicious.

I wonder what they would have thought if Bebe wasn't in the picture, Craig and I were together like I wish we could be, and we just randomly told them about it one day. Sure, we've always been closer with one another than we were with them, but I don't think we've ever been affectionate enough for them to think we were anything more than just a couple of really good friends. It would be like Clyde walking into the room and telling me that he and Token suddenly have a thing for each other. I know I would be beyond confused, and maybe even a little weirded out considering I've always thought of them as brothers.

Then again, Token and Clyde don't cuddle in bed and hold hands.

The voices of my friends fade in and out of my hearing as I rake through his hair with my fingers. I wish we were on my bed right now because Craig isn't feeling good and I really want to give him a kiss so maybe he will feel better. I want him to lie on top of me and hold me close like he did this morning before he pierced my ears. Even a little peck would suffice. It doesn't matter what I want right now, though, because there's a reason he'll only do those things with me where no one else can see.

Craig isn't my boyfriend, he's somebody else's.

Sometimes that's too hard to remember, and sometimes it's too hard to forget.


	4. Flawlessness

I was sort of small for a fourth grader. Even before everyone started sprouting up and having growth spurts the size difference between me and my classmates was embarrassingly noticeable, so I blamed my short little legs for how hard it was to push myself on the merry-go-round.

I sat on the very edge of the green triangle ( _which was just one of many colorful triangles fitted into the circle_ ) every day at recess as I positioned my feet on the gravel and shoved. I tried with everything I had to make my merry-go-round go without having someone else there to push me. I suppose I could have stood up and got it going, but that would have meant jumping on and god knows that wasn't going to happen. The last thing I needed was to smack my head against the metal contraption.

I'm sure I looked quite pathetic as the platform squeaked underneath me. It was barely moving as I tried my hardest to make it spin. Sometimes I refused to quit; I spent whole recesses kicking away at the ground with an unwavering sense of determination, dust and gravel being propelled into the air as I worked my little legs with all my might. Other times I just gave up and sat there to watch the other kids play catch with each other or dare their friends to jump off of the jungle-gym. I didn't usually give up, because watching the other kids play only reminded me that the merry-go-round wasn't quite as fun if there wasn't anyone there to push it or ride with me.

I didn't have many friends. People made me really nervous, and when I got nervous I would scream really embarrassing things that I didn't mean to say or start jerking and convulsing like I was having a seizure. I was the weird kid that nobody really liked, and I was horribly alone. I grew up without any siblings, and my parents didn't help me much with my loneliness. They might as well have been strangers with how little time we spent together. I was just another sad, out casted little kid with not a friend in the world besides the only other thing on the playground that no one else wanted to play with: The rusted old merry-go-round.

One day I gave up pushing, but was too frustrated to watch the other kids play, so I faced my trusty merry-go-round towards the winter mountains and moped. My face was buried in my hands when I felt the tips of my shoes begin to drag through the snow, being pulled along as the metal beneath me seemingly began to move on its own.

I jerked in shock and my eyes shot open as the entire world began to swirl around me. The merry-go-round span faster and faster until the snowy playground registered in my vision as only a white blur. I occasionally got a glimpse of something puffy and red as the vivid color streamed by me.

I screamed, and the merry-go-round came to a stop as a hand clutched the bar beside me. Said hand was clothed in a blue glove, covered in little white stars and a rocket ship. I looked up in fear, my eyes glistening with newly developed tears. A person was attached to that glove. It was another little boy, although he really wasn't all that little. He was bundled up in a poofy red coat, and a thick white scarf was obscuring the lower half of his round face from my view as he gazed down at me. He was so tall, much taller than the other boys on the playground, and that left me shuddering with apprehension. I looked back at him as I quivered. I pulled on the collar of my yellow winter coat in anxiousness.

"Hi," he greeted after a long and very uncomfortable silence. His voice was harsh and nasally. "My name's Craig."

I let out a horrid sounding squeak.

"I know your n-name, stupid. We've been in the same home room forever," I recoiled, trying to sound much braver than I really was. I already knew exactly who that annoying brute was by the blue earflap hat he never seemed to go without. Even now he wears one that's strikingly similar.

"Oh," he replied before looking down and shuffling his feet. Craig has always been the epitome of a socially awkward penguin. "Um... Is your name Twig?"

"AH! What? You don't remember?" I sputtered in disbelief. I was both saddened and insulted that someone I'd gone to school with my whole life didn't know what my name was.

"No. Just that you punch hard." His reply was emotionless and matter of fact. It made me blink in confusion until I remembered we beat the fuck out of each other just a year beforehand, all thanks to Kenny and those assholes he used to hang out with. He seemed to have had a growth spurt since then, because when we fought just a year earlier we were pretty much the same size. I can guarantee that he could have ripped me in half if he had the mind to go at it again.

"M-my name is not _Twig_! I-it's Tweek, butthead," I replied, scraping up every little scrap of bravery I had to try and chase him away with insults.

He raised his middle finger, a habit that he never completely outgrew. "I like Twig better."

In my frustration my feet hit the snow, and the merry-go-round squeaked as I began to push myself away from him. I didn't get far before the metal structure suddenly came to a jerky stop. No matter how hard I tried to push it would not budge. In fact, it began to go in the other direction completely, so I turned around and slammed my foot deep into the snow to stop it. Only then did I realize that Craig was gripping another bar, pulling it towards him as I tried to hit on the brakes.

"Ah! What do you want from me, man?" I shouted, wanting nothing more than for the big doofus that was reeling me in to go away. My left foot was getting buried in white fluff as I struggled against Craig's strength, but it didn't help me in the slightest.

"I wanna talk," he deadpanned as he yanked the bar back, sending me lurching forward while I clang helplessly to the merry-go-round. He was strong as well as tall. I felt like a mouse in the clutches of a wild cat.

"What? _WHY_?" I demanded, just as unsure and untrusting as I had ever been. I didn't feel comfortable even being in the same vicinity as Craig Tucker. Everyone called him a bully. He picked on people, and he liked to push other kids down. I was a scrawny little weirdo while he was pretty big for a fourth grader, so I knew I wouldn't stand a chance if he was wanting to pick a fight with me.

"Why not?" he asked. Soon my extended foot was digging into the ground, but it stopped once it collided with the side of his boot.

"I have a goldfish named Swimmy," I blurted out, my voice cracked and my body shook. I have no idea why I said that. It was probably because I was too frightened to think straight, and I was sure that completely random slip of the tongue would leave him weirded out enough to go away and leave me alone.

"I have a guinea pig named Stripe," he replied, not deterred in the slightest. With the way he looked down at his feet and leaned back on his heels he seemed much more relaxed and innocent than scary or menacing.

"Um..." I grumbled as I wrapped my arms around my middle and quivered. "Does stripe have a stripe?"

"A white one, does swimmy like to swim?"

"Yeah, a lot."

A short silence built between us as Craig shuffled his feet, and I offered him a small, unsure smile.

"Me and my friends are playing snow wars," he explained, pointing his gloved finger across the school yard at two other little boys who seemed to be building a snow fort. I recognized both kids, one being the only black child in our class and the other being a chubby brown haired boy I was once forced to partner up with. I didn't care for either.

"I need a partner. Wanna play?"

I immediately shook my head and glued myself to my merry-go-round as if I was expecting him to drag me kicking and screaming across the yard.

"Why not?" he asked.

"If I leave Merry will be sad again."

"Merry?" he asked, looking around as if he was expecting to find someone sitting next to me.

I patted the metal bar beside me. My high pitched little kid voice squeaked as I began to speak. "The merry-go-round. N-no one plays with her so she gets lonely..."

He raised his brow at me, but I don't know if it was because I was weirding him out or if he was just curious. "How would you know? Merry-go-rounds can't talk."

"She doesn't need to. Wouldn't you be sad if nobody ever p-played with you?"

He didn't answer my question, only began to push. I yelped when the world started spinning again, going around and around as little white puffs of snow glided past me. When I was going so fast all I could see were streaks of color he ran, gripping the bar as his legs pumped underneath him. I was starting to get dizzy when he jumped on beside me.

"What are you doing?" I shouted.

"Playing," he replied. "I'm playing with you and Merry."

I blinked, so utterly baffled that I didn't know what to say, so again I spewed out the first thing that came to mind.

"I like your gloves."

He looked down at one of his hands to investigate the space themed cloth as wind whipped around us. My unruly hair clang to my scalp as it was pushed around with the current.

"Thanks," he replied, "I'm gonna be a spaceman when I grow up."

**...**

My mom is really awkward.

That's really the only thing that crosses my mind as she scuttles around the living room, cleaning things that don't need to be cleaned and fixing things that don't need to be fixed. The room is flooded with such a vivid light from the ceiling fan that it almost looks like it's day time even though it's ten at night, and her green dress flows around her hips as the light reflects in her short brown hair. A cloth is in her dainty hand. She's using it to wipe an invisible mess off of the entertainment center.

I don't know why the house has to be so perfect all the time, because none of the people who live inside of it are. My mom is just as messed up as I am. She used to have violent fits like I did and we both have the same fake smile that nobody else can see through. I think the thing is that mom knows nothing's perfect, but she just really likes to pretend that it is. She puts on her makeup, straightens her hair, irons out every wrinkle in her pretty white apron, and then goes about her day pretending. She pretends the house is perfect, her coffee shop is perfect, her marriage is perfect, and I am perfect, even though most of those things are as far from perfect as they could possibly be.

She's always so busy pretending that she hardly ever notices me. Even right now as I sit at the living room couch and fill her in on my day she's too busy cleaning things that don't need to be cleaned to actually listen to me. I could tell her that I'm a drug addicted prostitute and she would just nod her head or let out a _mmhm_ ~ as she tries to scrub invisible smudges off of the television, because her invisible smudges are obviously far more important.

When I pretend it's because I'm hiding my feelings or keeping myself from exploding, but my mom doesn't just pretend her feelings; she pretends her life.

Sometimes I try to play along and pretend with her. I give her hugs and kisses or do chores that I don't really have to, like a perfect son should, but it almost always blows up in my face because I'm not as good at pretending as my mom. Sometimes I wish that I was, because then maybe she would stop just pretending to love me.

Mom's cleaning cloth rubs across a family photo resting on the mantle. She clears away filth that apparently only she can see. Everyone in the picture is smiling, but they all look so rigid- fake like mannequins. It's rather old because the Tweek in the picture looks really young, and his hair is slicked down with mass amounts of product. He's smiling, but he doesn't look happy; especially not with the two people he's sandwiched between. Mom and Dad look ridiculously neat, just as always, and everyone is wearing matching outfits and the same too-wide smile that looks artificial. This is when I realize it isn't just my mom that's awkward; it's the whole family.

Dad has this phrase he uses to describe our dysfunctional relationships. He always says that each of us are on a different page, but I don't even know what book we're reading. Even if I did I don't think I would be on a page at all, but on the inside of the back cover, hidden under the dust jacket somewhere that nobody could see me.

At least that's how I feel when my parents spend all their time at the coffee shop, and then work around me when they come home like I'm just another piece of furniture they don't have to dust. I wish my parents were more like my friends'. Token's mom and dad like to be perfect too, but at least they tell him that they're proud when he does something right and get mad when he does something wrong. My mom never reacts either way. She just keeps smiling and pretending to be perfect whether I bring home a good grade or run headfirst into a wall, both of which are things that have actually happened. I just wish they could hug and kiss me without feeling like they're being forced to hug a stranger.

That's the right word: stranger.

"... so I let h-him do it. I mean, I was nervous at first, but they look really good! Erm, do you want to see?" I ask as I proudly flash the little silver earrings Craig gave me a few days ago. I don't think she's paying attention, because she is dusting a shelf that has no dust on it.

"That's nice, Sweetie," she replies in a singsong tone, sounding engaged in the conversation even though she obviously isn't. What bothers me most is that I can't tell whether she just isn't paying attention or if she's so pissed off that I let Craig pierce my ears she doesn't even want to think about it.

I huff out quietly. It's overwhelming and exhausting just trying to talk with her.

Without a word, I stand up from the couch and walk to the staircase. I retreat so that I might lick my wounds. My mom either doesn't realize or doesn't care that I'm leaving, because she doesn't even look up from her cleaning as I walk away.

Craig left his jacket with me when Token dropped us off from school this evening. It's folded up into a neat little bundle, and I'm cradling it against my chest as I stumble up the stairs and down the narrow hallway. It makes me feel good to have a piece of him so close; it makes me feel better.

I stand before my brightly decorated bedroom door. A poster of a tabby cat clinging to a tree branch seems to be the centerpiece, and the words _hang in there_ are written across the bottom of the poster in blue bubble letters. Token got it for me at the book fair a couple years ago, saying that it would help me remember that everything will be okay. I taped it on my door because Token is really smart, and if he said that it would help me feel better I knew that it would. I don't know if I still have that unwavering faith in him now, though.

I creep into my room, and then quickly turn the lock tight behind me. Everything's a little messier in here than the rest of the house. There are a few crumpled shirts laying on the floor by the head of my bed, ( _one of which is Craig's_ ) and a few empty coffee cups are misplaced on my dresser. This is the only room that isn't spotless because it's the only room my mom isn't allowed to come into.

My bed looks enticing so I jump onto my fluffy blankets, admiring the little green cartoon frogs in the fabric. I'm still upset because of my mom's negligence, but it's easy for me to feel better here. I unfold Craig's jacket, and then toss it on top of my head. I like to wrap the sleeves around my middle. It feels like someone's giving me a hug, and I could really use one of those right now.

I'm almost completely engulfed as I root around inside his jacket, probably looking much more like a puppy wiggling around in a blanket than an obsessive teenage boy. Being really tiny seems to have that effect.

I fall back on my pillow when I finally squeeze the sleeves tight around my upper half, leaving only my scrawny legs and little face poking out of the black cloth.

I've been feeling unbelievably pathetic recently. I crave the weekends just because I know I won't be face to face with Bebe and her unrelenting good-nature. At the same time I hate the weekends, because if Craig isn't in my room with me I know he's in her room with her. I always try really hard not to think about the things they do together when they're alone. I'm not retarded; I know full well that he does a lot more than just put his arm around her like they do in school. I also know he does a lot more to her than just kiss and touch like he does to me.

I've been so tempted so many times to just call him so I can make her stop touching him. Right now is a fan-fucking-tastic example, because he canceled plans with me tonight so he could go on a date with her. It's almost eleven o'clock, so I'm plenty sure that part of their night is over.

I bet they're in her room now. I can practically hear her insufferable little giggles as he kisses at her neck with his beautifully chapped lips. Her perfectly manicured hands are trailing up his shirt, and those big fingers of his that I've come to love so much are unbuttoning one of her girly little blouses. She's straddling him while those same fingers work to unhook her frilly pink bra, slide down the flawless ivory skin of her back, slip underneath the edge of her skirt. Where his hands are don't bother me nearly as bad as where I know hers will be. They'll remain idle on his broad chest until she has the mind to drag them lower, to his ribs, his abs, his navel, his midriff, lower.

Lower.

Stop! Please for the love of god, make it _STOP_!

_CRACK_.

In my unwavering anguish I slam the back of my head hard against the headboard, and bitter drops of polluted water overflow from my eyes and stream down the sides of my face. I lift my head up to bring it crashing back down against the wood, but stop myself with a deep breath.

_In through your nose,_

_Out through your mouth._

I huff, my eyes twitching as my chin goes slack. It hurts so badly. A sharp throbbing is banging at the back of my skull. Why did I do that? I'm not supposed to be fucking hurting myself, my therapist said so. It's been two-hundred and twenty-five days since the last time I smashed my head. I know because I was keeping track. Now I have to start all over again just because I was thinking about things I shouldn't be thinking about.

It's just not fair, though. I can't understand why she gets to have him. I know that she's really pretty and nice, but Craig has always been with me.

He isn't here tonight, though. No, tonight he's touching her, tonight he's laying down in her bed instead of mine. Tonight I'm curled up alone, feeling about as sad and abandoned as I ever have before. I know it isn't fair for me to be thinking that way. If either of us deserves to be with him it definitely isn't me.

It's too much pressure. It's just too much to take. I have to, though. Whether or not I really have what it takes to handle all the feelings inside I have no other choice but to tough through it. I swore to Craig that not only would I keep our dirty little secret to myself, but that I could also bare all of the stress that comes with it. No matter how hard it is for me I will never break a promise to him.

Never.

I breathe in and out, closing my eyes to try and clean out all the trash and clutter in my mind. I want to reach for the warm cup of coffee that was left on my headboard earlier today.

Yet, I know if I start indulging in caffeine now there's no way I'm going to be able to sleep, and if there's one thing I definitely need it's some rest. When I'm asleep is one of the only times I'm not hurting, so for the first time in a long time I make a conscious decision to leave my coffee to go cold. After pulling Craig's jacket up over my head I struggle with insomnia and restlessness all throughout the night, tossing and turning hour after grueling hour until the darkness finally takes mercy lulls me into a weary sleep.

**...**

I awake to my body being gently shaken. I crack open my sleep deprived eyes. My room is dark, lighted only by my dim Chinese lanterns as I twist and turn under heavy fabric. I can feel the gentle touch of a strong hand on my hip as I roll over and stretch out. My eyes go wide when I catch the sight of a large and dark silhouette kneeled over the edge of my bed. I'm so taken aback to find someone in my room that a yelp escapes from my throat. I yank the closest thing to me over my head in fear like a child hiding from the monster in his closet.

"Tweek," a voice coaxes softly.

The rough sound is so familiar that my fear begins to subside. A small tug pulls at the cloth I'm cowering under. I hesitantly allow my grip go limp, and as the fabric slips down my eyes adjust to the features of the person hovering over me.

"C-Craig?" I murmur in groggy confusion before sitting up. He offers me an awkward smile from the side of my bed, his eyebrows scrunching upwards as the lighting catches and reflects on the little piece of metal decorating his face. He's down on his knees, leaning over my mattress so that I'm eye level with him.

He's dressed nice. A white button up shirt with blue stitching is wrapped around his torso, one of his nicer pieces of clothing that I rarely ever see him in. He looks really weird to me, because his industrial bar, one pair of earrings, and a single lip stud are the only pieces of jewelry he has in. I can tell because he isn't wearing his hat, and his short black hair is slicked back with gel. Craig doesn't really look like Craig when he's dressed like this.

I'm incredibly tired and a bit taken back by his clean-cut look, but that doesn't stop me from immediately falling forward and wrapping my scrawny arms around his broad shoulders, clinging to him like a frightened kitten and shocking him with a tight embrace.

"I thought you were spending the night with her," I whimper.

He clears his throat, and his hands are shaky and unsteady while they run up my back to my shoulder blades. "I did," he murmurs quietly, "But it's morning now."

I pull away and hook an arm around the back of his neck to hold my sleepy body steady. I rub at my eyes as they adjust to the bright green numbers of the alarm clock on my headboard. It is indeed morning, but it's so early it might as well be considered night time still. I've been asleep for less than an hour, but there's no way I'm drifting back off now that I've been woken up. I don't really mind considering the pleasant surprise I woke up to.

His fingers smooth over the cloth in my lap, and he swallows hard. His pale blue orbs glisten in the faint lighting with some sort of apprehension as his large digits investigate the fabric.

"You've been sleeping with my jacket." His rough voice pierces a hole through the silence as his face morphs into something uneasy and frightfully conflicted.

I blink in confusion for a moment, waiting for my sleep-deprived brain to register what he had said. As soon as it does I'm embarrassed that I've been caught in what suddenly feels like a pathetic situation. It's sad how he can make me shakily tuck my flea-bitten tail between my legs simply by changing the tone in his voice.

"Well... Not all the time," I blatantly lie, running a shaking hand over my face and through my hair. "I was j-just upset today and..."

As my sentence trails off Craig seems to become uncharacteristically curious, albeit a small trace of unease is still lingering in his features. "And?"

"I don't know... It makes me feel like you're here, and I need you sometimes," I nearly whisper, feeling even more embarrassed by the small, high pitched tone in my voice.

He frowns at my words, his hand moving from said jacket so that his knuckles can graze the side of my face. I hate that look he has. It's so unsure as if he's rethinking even being here. I would question him. I would ask why he looks so sad, why he randomly showed up in my bedroom at the crack of dawn when he's supposed to be with his girlfriend, or how he got in despite the locks I have on every door and window. ( _If there's one thing locks can't keep out it's Craig_.) However, I can't gather up enough energy or curiosity to ask.

He's so still and quiet, his eyes downcast as if he can't make a movement unless I ask it of him. Craig is such an odd thing. One second he's canceling plans with me to be with his girlfriend and the next he's sneaking into my house at four o'clock in the morning to see me. I can tell he came straight here from her house, because if he would have been home he would have changed out of his nice threads and put his jewelry back in. He probably peeled out of her sheets, threw on his clothes, and slipped away without her even realizing. That's how I imagine it anyways.

I can't help but wonder why he left her so early in the morning to begin with.

He sighs, and how rigid he is makes it look as if he doesn't think he belongs here. He looks like my mom does when she peeks awkwardly inside my room but refuses to come inside. He does belong here, though.

He belongs here more than he does anywhere else.

"You can come to bed with me," I say as I pat the mattress beside me.

His eyes stay trained on the bed, and after a moment of contemplative silence he asks softly, "Are you cold?"

"Uh... No... Not really," I reply in confusion. My eyebrows scrunch together as he raises back up to balance himself on his knees.

"You look cold," comes the immediate response before an arm slips under the bend in my knees and another around my back, taking me by surprise while he hoists me against his massive chest and climbs into bed.

He always needs an excuse to touch me, whether it's using the piercings in my ears as an excuse to rub my earlobes or pretending I'm cold so he feels justified in holding me.

I want to squirm and wiggle until he puts me down, but any kind of closeness is good. I'm way too tired to start struggling anyway, and I would rather be held against his chest than make a pathetic mess of myself by desperately snuggling with a piece of cloth. I'm expecting him to lay me down on my side of the bed, but he doesn't. Instead he sits down against the wall and adjusts me in his lap like I'm some sort of toy. Craig has done a lot of things to make me closer to him, but this is the first time he's done this. It makes my heart thump so hard against my ribcage it hurts.

I want to tell him that him just being here makes me feel better, that I'm so glad he's with me because I had missed him so desperately, and how much I've been wanting to have him close like this again. I don't though, because it was already embarrassing enough to have been found cuddling with his tattered old coat.

"Is it bad that I slept with it? The jacket, I mean," I ask almost sadly, recalling the uncomfortable look he had on his face as he cradles my small form against him.

He looks at me for a moment as if he's trying to decide how he feels about it. I thought he knew why I liked having it after what happened when he carried me home in the aftermath our first kiss. He left it draped over the back of my mom's couch to comfort me since he knew he couldn't be there to do it himself. At least that's what I _thought_ when he left it behind, but it seems now that he only left it on accident, and when I found it I assumed it was some kind or romantic gesture.

For some reason it really hurts me to think of it like that.

"I...," he begins, filtering through his small vocabulary to find the right words. Eventually he gives up and sighs. "It's just a jacket..."

I frown deeply. It isn't _just a jacket_. It's his jacket, Craig's jacket, and even before we started messing around it was a symbol of comfort and warmth to me. It's the very essence of him and all the things me makes me feel, no matter how lovey and heartwarming or painful and saddening. This old thing doesn't hold the same kind of value to him as it does to me. In his eyes it really is nothing but just another old warn out piece of cloth that could easily be replaced if need be. Not to me, though.

Not to me.

"No it isn't..." I finally argue, albeit it's a very quiet and feeble protest. He doesn't say anything back, just readjusts me in his lap as he folds his legs upward and props my little body between his chest and his knees. He's uncomfortable talking about this, although I wouldn't have the slightest idea why. It seems I've got to be more careful what I say around him now, because I never know what could make him get nervous or second guess himself. It always seems to be the littlest, most insignificant things that unnerve him.

"Do you want to sleep again?" he asks in an attempt at changing conversation topic, his breath warm and comforting as it ghosts over my forehead. He's got me so close to him that I'm not sure where my body ends and his begins, and he's pressing his cheek gingerly against my forehead while his strong arms envelop me.

"Well there's n-no way I'm going back to bed now that you woke me up," I grumble, shifting so that my boney butt won't jam into Craig's legs.

"Oh... Sorry."

"It's okay... Why're you h-here anyways? Um... not that I mind or anything! You can come over like... anytime you want! I'm just curious." I sputter like a dying engine, only adding to my embarrassment.

He lets out an amused puff of air, and I can feel the warm current flow through my messy hair. His shoulders shrug dismissively. The grip he has on me doesn't loosen in the slightest as he does so. I'm disappointed that he doesn't want to tell me. It's okay, though. Craig doesn't have to answer if he doesn't want to. I'm not really in the best position to be asking questions anyway. I should just shut my dumb mouth and be happy that he chose to come see me instead of interrogating him like an idiot. The last thing I'd want is for him to get frustrated with me and leave.

I'd probably end up smashing my head again.

I really should tell someone I did that. I can still feel a dull aching in the back of my head and my therapist said that I need to tell somebody if I hurt myself like that again. I always used to tell Craig or Clyde if I did something bad, but if I tell Craig he'll think that I really can't handle our relationship, and if I tell Clyde he'll want to know what triggered my fit. I'm pretty much screwed either way, so keeping my mouth shut seems like a good plan.

The dull ache is still throbbing through the back of my skull, so as an impulse I reach back and rub the sore spot, avoiding Craig's limbs and face as I do so. I can feel his head resting against my scalp with my pinky as I run my hand through my hair, but I feel something else too. It's not much, just a little dampness in my palm. I can't see Craig's face, but I think his eyes are closed, so I bring my hand back out in front of me where I can get a good look at it.

A little red smudge glistens back at me thanks to my room's lighting, and I'm horrified when I think it may be blood. It isn't much though, just a very little bit, and Craig's so occupied with sniffing my hair that he doesn't realize my discovery. I quickly rub my hands together until the smudge is as gone as I can get it, trying to destroy as much evidence as I can of my most recent fit. What if there's some in my hair still? GAH! What if I really did brake the skin and there's blood in my hair? Its very dimly lit in my room, but with the way his fingers are running through my hair he doesn't need to see it. Craig will know what I did as soon as he feels the lump on the back of my head.

I wiggle around urgently in his grasp.

"I think I'm going to take a shower. I feel sweaty," I complain. I've been lying to Craig a lot recently, but if there's anymore blood in my hair I need to wash it out before he gets the chance to find it. I'm sure it'd show easily against blond, and I pray since there was only a little bit on my hand that it didn't get on any of my pillows or anything. He releases me from his grip, but he seems to think that he's coming with me because when I get out of bed he gets up too.

"No, you stay here," I order, wagging my finger in his direction as if he's a badly behaved dog rather than another human being.

"Why?" He frowns, looking truly disappointed as I scurry for the door.

"Gah! You don't need to follow me, it'll only be a minute."

"A minute," he mimics monotonously like some kind of robot parrot. He tends so do that from time to time, repeat the last few words I say with so little enthusiasm that he sounds like a brainless cyborg. Sometimes I think he does it just to let me know he heard me, and other times I think all those cigarettes finally fried his brain.

"Um... Yeah... I'll be back," I assure.

I leave the abandoned giant standing alone in the middle of my room as I back into the hall. I can't believe how sad he looks. His face resembles a mangy dog who's owners just dumped him off in the street. The edges of his lips are curled downward into the faintest of frowns, but his eyebrows are raising hopefully as if I might come back and change my mind. Despite how big and intimidating he can be, he really looks pathetic right now. I feel bad, but still close the door before leaning forward against the wood to collect my bearings, sighing as my forehead gently collides with it.

The only thing on my mind right now is taking a quick bath to wash any blood out of my hair so that I can get back to him before he disappears. I'm always scared that when I leave the room he might not be there when I get back. I don't really know why, the fear is just so deeply engrained in my head that I can't get over it.

Once I stammer down the hall to the bathroom I lock the door and immediately get to work. Water cascades from the spigot. I hold my hand underneath the steady current, testing the temperature as the warm liquid slips through my fingers and fills the bath. With a sigh I lift my shirt up over my head, slip off my pants, and then pull down my underwear before standing nude next to the tub as I wait for it to fill. I really don't like to be so exposed or go without clothes on. I think it bothers Craig because I've developed an anxiety with being naked in front of him.

"It wasn't a problem before," he murmured in exasperation the last time he tried to convince me to pull my pants down. I tried to explain that things are different now that we're... whatever we are, but I don't think he understood. We've been intimate for more than two weeks now and I won't even let him take my shirt off. I can't help it, though. It makes me feel so vulnerable and self conscious to think about letting him see me naked again. He's used to a beautiful woman with soft skin, sexy curves and full breasts. I'm a guy, - a pretty bad looking one at that - and I'm still not convinced that he's actually attracted to me.

I don't know how anyone of any gender could be attracted to me.

My body is so bony and scrawny. If I stretch out I could probably count all of my ribs through the skin on my chest. It's just so... ugly. It's just as hideous as my pimple-plagued arms, my untrainable hair, my disproportionate face, and my little bird-like bowlegs. I don't even look like a guy, but more like a prepubescent boy or a girl who never developed breasts because I'm so small, awkwardly feminine looking, and my body hair is so blond it looks like I don't even have any. Maybe if I could grow in a little facial hair teachers would stop trying to direct me to the Jr. High hallway and waiters would stop asking if I want toys with my meals, but for god's sake I'm almost eighteen and can't even grow peach fuzz.

If I could cover up every inch of me with cloth I could, and my hatred for myself is usually only fueled by the mirror above the sink. Thankfully mom had the courtesy to cover it up for me. Mirrors tend to be hidden from view in my house since I explained to mom and dad what horrible dangers they pose. I don't think they believed me when I told them about the people who look like us but really aren't, but they obliged my frantic pleas anyway.

"Finally," I murmur when the tub has filled just enough for me to lean back and soak my hair in.

I slide in and immediately dip my head back to wet my hair, allowing the warm water to relax my tense muscles and hopefully wash away any blood that's left in my wild mane. I splash around a bit as I reach for the shampoo, and as I'm lathering my hair with soapy suds the doorknob begins to jiggle. I freeze, both my wide eyes trained on the wiggling doorknob. That better be my mom because I already told those damn underwear gnomes to fuck off; those bitches can't have anymore of my underpants. The lock flicks upwards, seemingly unlocking itself as the door slides open. Luckily I'm not face to face with a hoard of curious gnomes, but instead with a curious skyscraper lizard-man thingy.

"Gah! C-Craig! I told you not to follow me!" I scold, my face tinting red as I cover my chest with my arms. "How the hell do you keep unlocking my doors anyway, do you have super powers?"

He cocks a brow at me while he leans against the door frame, both arms crossed over his chest as he watches me in the tub. I feel around the back of my head, which is completely cloaked in puffs of shampoo bubbles. If there was any blood it's probably gone now, so I let out a nervous sigh.

"Fine, if you want to be a creep so bad come in." I sound so defeated and frustrated.

He smiles faintly as if I just offered him the world, making my face flush as he leans back against the door and it shuts closed behind him. It isn't long before he plops down on the fuzzy blue toilet seat next to the tub, the same place he always sits when I decide to take a bath. I don't like this one bit, and I'm trying my best to hide my bits from his intrusive gaze with my teeny hands.

"You shouldn't just walk in when people are taking baths, you know," I murmur.

He looks at me as if I'm insane, and then reasons, "You walk in when I'm in the tub," before sticking out his split tongue that I can't help but associate with a Komodo dragon.

Fair enough, Mr. Lizard Craig, you win this round.

I tip my head back into the water, running my fingers through my hair to scrub out all the soap. Craig just sits there silently. I can feel his eyes on me, peeking at my nakedness through the clear, rippling water I'm soaking in. I'm surprised with how sexual Craig really is. He's always looking for a peek or trying to cop a feel. He's probably waiting for me to start talking because that's how these baths go. He usually stays quiet while I talk his ear off, it doesn't matter if he's sitting beside me or in the tub himself, but I'm too uncomfortable to speak.

The yellow bulb above us makes the room an ugly color, and the artificial light makes me run my nails over my skin. My bathroom is small, just like my room, and everything is either blue or white. We have blue rugs, white shower curtains, and blue walls with white trim. Everything matches and everything is perfectly clean.

Perfectly.

A tiny window is placed above the tub. Its just high enough to let in light during the day without anyone being able to see inside. A gust of wind picks up, blowing its little white curtains gently as the cold air seeps into the room. Craig rolls up his sleeves and stands up from the toilet seat. He leans over the tub, blocking the ugly yellow light as he reaches up and pulls the window closed. I look up at him in confusion, because rolling up his sleeves seemed really unnecessary for closing a window.

"What are you doing?" I ask as Craig plops down on the floor beside me. He shrugs, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the side of the tub as he does so.

I smile at him although my arms immediately cross over my chest as if they can hide all my ugliness from his smoldering gaze. It's really quite a sad attempt, considering I'm laying completely naked in a tub of clear water. He doesn't smile back, though. Instead he leans forward, dipping one of his big hands in the soapy liquid and taking a hold of my thin left wrist. I tense up, but allow him to carefully pull my arm away from my chest. He's always so slow and careful as if one quick movement would break me into pieces.

The sad thing is it probably could.

"You don't have to hide from me," he assures, his eyes suddenly seeming so much warmer than usual. My feelings of unease turn to disbelief as his gaze sweeps over me, and that mischievous grin of his faintly works it's way across his lips.

I look up at him with scrunched eyebrows, both amazed and frustrated with how easily he saw right through my fake smile. It's my turn to reply with silence, and as I lay back in the water, naked, exposed, and vulnerable, he slowly leans down. The dull ache of longing lingers in my chest when I feel the warmth of his lips.

Craig's lips.

I push forward skittishly in hopes of capturing them with my own, but as I do he pulls them out of my reach. His fingertips brush against my cheek, wiping away wet droplets as he looks down at me with a heavy gaze. My cheeks are aflame with embarrassment, but that feeling goes away rather quickly as he gently wipes the water from my face. I've never been so exposed, and with the hot look lingering in Craig's stare I know he won't be letting this opportunity slip by him.

I wont either.

If I want to keep Craig I can't let my anxiety keep me from giving him what he wants.

The water sloshes as I reach my hand up and grab him, wetting his nice button up shirt as I use it to pull him back down and force his lips against mine. He lets out a groan in surprise, but when his shock melts away he dips his hands back into the water. One works to deepen our kiss, its big fingers raking through my soaked blond hair before his lips leave my own and begin to travel downward where they find my damp neck. He gnaws at the delicate flesh with his teeth, sucking and nipping until a pleased sound resonates from my throat.

This is the first time I've ever laid before him so exposed and vulnerable, more than willing to let him run his hands over my bare skin. This is something far more intimate than anything we've ever done before, and Craig seems almost excited.

He uses a calloused thumb pad to gently rub the tender, pink skin of my chest. Feeling his rough, cracked thumb stimulate my nerves in slow, calculated circles sends pulses of hot electricity straight to my groin, and a pleasured shudder squeaks out of me. I quickly melt under his touches, forfeiting every reserve I'd once possessed.

Once he's worked a few more embarrassing gasps out of me his hand begins to travel down my chest, sending shivers all through my body as his fingertips glide over the soft skin of my ribs and downward. My breath hitches when I feel the tips of his fingers on my midriff, and our once gentle kissing gets rougher as his tongue invades my mouth. This feels so good, and every time I hear one of Craig's quiet little noises my lower belly sets aflame. I'm clutching so tightly to the front of his shirt I'm sure my fingers have fuzed with the fabric. He untangles his fingers from my wet hair and slips a muscular arm deeper into the tub water and underneath my back. He pulls me up against him, forming a cradle for my upper half and holding me close as his hungry mouth sucks at my tongue.

My hips tilt upward against his hand, a silent and desperate request for him to go lower, for him to take me in his hands and stroke me. He's in a teasing mood tonight, much to my displeasure, so I moan out his name in a pleading cry he surly can't ignore. He responds with an exhale, a strong stream of hot breath as his slick split tongue wets my bottom lip. I can feel him brush the tip of my arousal with his hand, one of those big hands that I've found myself so infatuated with. My head lulls back into the water when his fingers wrap around my hardening cock almost eagerly. He's holding me, kissing me, touching me, pleasuring me. The burning look in his gaze and his excited pace of breath is all for _ME_. I'm the only one he wants this way.

Just me...

He slowly begins to pump his hand, and waves of pleasure immediately rack through my little body as I writhe under his touch, my knees raising up out of the water and my hands clinging to the front if his shirt as I arch up into him. I choke out a few whimpers while my mind fogs and blurs with need. My hips tilt upwards again, thrusting into his jerking fist as my entire body quivers and shakes at the exhilarating sensations rippling through my senses. My mind goes completely numb, and every pain I've ever felt is chased away with the beautiful rasp in his low voice. Craig's mouth is relentless. Whether his tongue is wrestling aggressively with mine or his lips are littering my forehead with sweet kisses he just can't seem to tear away, and as friction builds between his pumping fist and my hard cock it gets difficult to stay quiet. The water I'm laying in sloshes around the tub, and my mouth gapes open as I slam harder into his hand. The sound of flesh colliding with flesh fills the air around us, along with splashing water and a low groan that tears out of my throat.

"Oh g-god, don't stop," I murmur in desperation, my voice cracking and wavering through the high pitched sound. I hope my parents have already left for work. I can feel a warmth build in my lower belly that feels like a tight, hot, coil a second away from exploding, and when I finally spill over my quiet whimpering might become something more.

"Craig," I gasp breathlessly between jarred thrusts. "I... I'm coming."

He lets out a deep throated moan against my ear, surprising me with how heated it sounds as he picks up the pace. I begin convulsing, my thighs jerk and my breath gets lodged in my throat as I bury my forehead into his chest. I'm clutching him with white knuckles when I feel it; the sweet release I'd been wanting so badly. All the burning hot pressure that was building inside finally erupts, pouring into his hand as I quiver helplessly against him.

Nothing but the sound of my heavy breathing and dripping water fills the air around us as he gives my cock a few more strokes. I refuse to let go of him, my breathing coming to me in short puffs as I recover from my orgasm. I shyly peek up at his face, and I'm taken aback by just how gratified he seems. He looks so satisfied, and maybe even a little proud with his hand still rubbing lazily at my softening arousal.

"See," he whispers, a grin spreading across his face of the likes I've never seen.

"See what?" I ask breathlessly. Usually I'm pretty good at cracking Craig's coded few worded sentences, my mind is still too muddy to decipher it. When he realizes I don't know what he's talking about his grin fades, but he uses his knuckles to stroke my cheeks like he likes to.

"That you don't have to hide from me."


	5. Shaking Wrists

I never really had anyone spend the night until then- until ten year old Craig somehow talked nine year old me into letting him sleep over. I remember waiting for his mom to drop him off that night, so nervous that he'd be bored at my house I had a mini panic attack. We'd been playing together at recess for what seemed like forever, but we were always with his friends so we hadn't played alone since he pushed me on Merry. He was sort of nice to me, so I wanted really badly to impress him. I can still remember running around the house and screaming for my mom to make a peanut butter sandwich because Craig's mom packed them in his lunches. Mom just patted me on the head before scurrying off somewhere, probably to clean something that didn't need to be cleaned.

I was adamant about that sandwich, convinced that a couple of slabs of bread and peanut paste would make my new friend happy. If my mom wasn't gonna help me make it for him I was just going to have to do it myself. I had the same stepping stool back then that I do now, - an ugly wooden thing dad picked up from a garage sale - so I pulled it out and got to work. I made sandwiches all the time, mostly because my mom got so busy I would have starved otherwise. I always just made them with cheese, though, but at least I had a good idea of where everything was. Two slices of bread and a jar of peanut butter was all I needed, and I laid out all my tools across mom's clean counter. I stuck my tongue out in concentration as I stretched up to the countertop and used a ladle to spread the scrumptious brown stuff onto a piece of white bread. I tried my best, but I made a mess of everything. Peanut butter ended up everywhere; it was all over the counter, my arms, and somehow even on my cheeks, but I was making a sandwich god damn it. It wasn't just any sandwich either, it was special, so it was going to get done one way or the other.

Craig didn't like crusts. I remembered him mentioning it at lunch so of course those pesky things had to go, and what better to cut crusts off than a steak knife. I ended up with a cut that needed a bit of attention, and even though mom was being calm I knew she was having an inward freak out when she saw the mess I made of her kitchen. Either way, by god I got the job done and I got it done right.

So, cleaned up with peanut butter sandwich in hand, I waited by the front door. We had a love seat in the living room back then, so I kept climbing on top of it so I could look out the side window at the driveway. It felt like I'd been watching out the glass forever, but when I finally saw a white van pull into the drive my little heart lurched up into my throat.

I recall tying to jump off of the love seat only for my foot to get caught on the arm rest, leaving me tumbling harmlessly to the floor. I was a klutz even then, and once mom helped me to my feet she smoothed out invisible wrinkles in her apron, staged a smile, and then opened the door. The first thing I saw from behind her was Craig. He stood there on the front stoop, looking just as blank as ever with a rigid stance and wandering eyes. His mom stood about a mile high behind him as he peered in at me. She didn't look like any mom I'd ever seen before. She wore tight blue jeans, a dangerously low-cut shirt, and quite a bit of makeup. I was hidden nervously behind my mother, but inched out anxiously to say hello in my own backwards way.

"H-here," I sputtered out, shoving the sandwich at him as my cheeks tinted red.

He looked at it with a cocked brow, obviously startled by my unorthodox greeting. He received no hello or how are you, just a pair of shaky hands offering him some bread.

"Whatcha got there?" his mom asked from up in the clouds. I was convinced Craig came from a family of giants considering how unnaturally tall his mother was- tall, skinny, and blond. Well, sort of blond. When she looked down at him I could see black roots she'd yet to re-dye poking out from underneath her light colored hair.

Craig eyed the sandwich in his hands before peeking inside the bread. "Peanut butter," he answered his mother robotically.

"Um... Yeah! I mean, I never really had a friend over or anything so I didn't know if you'd... So I just... eh! I made you a sandwich. Mgh- Pressure!" I was so nervous, and embarrassingly it showed incredibly well.

He held it up with both hands, and I watched in horror as he began ripping it apart.

"GAH! What are you doing?!" I shrieked, heartbroken that all my hard work was just rejected and being pulverized before my very eyes. I was a second away from leaping on him when I saw it finally rip in half. At least I was until he pushed part of it towards me. I blinked at him as he stood there, one arm extended with half a peanut butter sandwich in his little hand.

"Sharing," he replied monotonously.

"Aw," Mrs. Tucker cooed, seemingly surprised by her son's generosity. "Isn't that just the sweetest thing?"

I can't recall why, but I think that's the moment I decided Craig and I would always be good friends.

Mom told me to show him around while she chatted with Mrs. Tucker, and Craig's mom gave him a kiss on the forehead in farewell. I happily took a hold of his wrist and dragged him all through my house. I took him from room to room, explaining in unnecessary detail what each one was for. He didn't really say too much, but that was probably because Craig didn't talk with a full mouth like I did.

"And uh, this is my bedroom," I said as I pushed open the door. "It's super small 'cause my old room wasn't warm enough or something so I got moved to this one and it's smaller, but it stays warm so I like it."

I've always talked a whole lot, although I think I mostly did it to compensate for Craig's usually quiet demeanor. Still, I may have overcompensated just a bit.

He was working on the last few bites of his sandwich when I took him by the hand and dragged him into my room. It's funny looking back on it now, knowing that was the very first of what would become countless nights spent together in that same tiny bedroom. It was a little awkward when I sat him down on my bed for the first time, though, on account of his silence and my naiveté. He just sort of sat there as I tried to come up with conversation.

I didn't have to, though, because Craig was the first to break the ice.

"You have a space alien," he murmured flatly, interrupting my brain processes that somehow found their way from the underpants gnomes to the wonder of cheese graters.

"Um... huh?" I asked in confusion.

"You've a baby space alien," he repeated himself before sliding off my bed.

"GAH! Where?! Oh god, what of it attaches to my skin and sucks out my insides! Pressure!" I wailed, curling in on myself as I pulled hard on my hair.

"Pressure," he mimicked. He didn't at all seem to be fazed by my horrified outburst- the same sort of episode that would either annoy or disturb most of the other kids at school. I liked that about Craig. No matter how monotone and uncaring he sounded he'd always murmur out a word or two, a subtle acknowledgement that always made all the difference.

He trailed over to my little white dresser.

Dad and Mom always seemed to think that buying me things would make up for all the time they didn't spend with me, so I had quite a few more toys than a child of my mental capacity would ever know what to do with. They mostly just sat around as decorations because I didn't have enough sense or imagination to actually play with them. It's one of those toys that caught Craig's interest- a grey thing with a bulbous head and round black eyes that was perched on top of a pile of stuffed animals.

"Do you like aliens?" he asked as he picked the plush toy off the pile.

"Um... No, not really! They kidnap people and probe them! That thing is just something my dad brought home," I admitted meekly.

"So you believe aliens are real?" he asked, his thumb running over the plush face of the toy in his hands. "I tried to tell Token, but he didn't believe me."

Suddenly I found myself beaming. "Gah! I know how that is, man! I really do! Nobody ever believes me about anything either! Um... But you believe in the aliens?"

He nodded. "I'm gonna meet one one day."

"Gah! What? How!?"

He looked back at me from over his shoulder, an actual smile stretching across his lips. "I told you, I'm gonna be a spaceman."

"Oh, uh. Why, though? I mean, what's so great about space? It's all black and empty, and what if you do find an alien and he probes you?!"

Craig looked down at his feet for a moment in contemplation, as if he wasn't quite sure how to explain himself so that I would understand. His eyes wandered to my window, and he seemed to immediately know what to do. I blinked in bewilderment when he took me by the wrist and plucked me up off of my mattress. We shuffled across my carpet to the curtains before he drew them apart, and with a strong yank he pulled the window open. The cold air of a winter night wafted into the room, cooling my cheeks as he poked his head out and looked around. I didn't question him until he suddenly started climbing out.

"What are you doing?" I shrieked before throwing my arms around his hips, pulling hard to get him back inside.

"I'm showing you why I'm gonna go to space," he deadpanned before shoving forward. I screamed in horror as we both spilled out my second story window. My immediate instinct was to squeeze his midsection and brace for impact, but my horrified yelling stopped when we landed rather painlessly on the roof of my back porch. He pushed his upper half up with his palms before looking back over his shoulder and blinking at me. The light from my window seeped out and stained the darkness with a dim white color, setting our two little forms apart from the rest of the world outside. I was still clutching to his hips. My cheek was buried in the bend of his back as my poor little heart pounded from the scare I just had.

"You're funny," Craig said tonelessly despite his smile.

I could feel my cheeks heating up, so I immediately let go of him and shot up straight. I quickly changed the subject to distract from my embarrassment. "GAH! Uh! Why did we have to fall out a window for you to tell me why you want to go to space?"

"'Cause I wanna show you," he said before sitting up and curling his legs one atop the other. I scanned the darkness of my back yard, looking around to find exactly what it is that he wanted me to see, but he wasn't looking down; he was looking up. His blue eyes were trained longingly at the stars hanging high above us as I crossed my legs and scooted closer. I gazed up similarly at the same white dots. They were beautiful, sparkling things set out against a thick black canvas, but despite how lovely they were that's all I saw: dots.

"Is this it? Its j-just stars," I sighed out in disappointment.

"Do you know what a star is?" he asked flatly.

"Um.. Mr. Garrison said they're gas."

"That's right," he said knowingly, "but they're more than just balls of gas. Some of them are suns with solar systems like ours- with planets that have plants and animals people from earth've never seen before."

I was amazed both at what he was telling me and at how much he'd been talking. I'd never heard him say that much at once. He seemed a lot smarter than I'd been giving him credit for. "Really?..." I asked. "Like that Star Wars thing Kevin talks about?"

"Yeah, but Star Wars is just a movie," he replied, never pulling his eyes away from the star filled sky as I watched the usually quiet, monotonous boy come out of his shell. "There's really places out there that nobody's seen before, all different kinds of planets. Some might have skies that are purple or yellow, and there could be some that have more than one sun. There are even other people out there somewhere- other kids like you and me, too. They're the ones that drive the UFOs that come here. They're spacemen from different places in the universe, just like I'm gonna be."

"And that's why I'm gonna be a spaceman," he concludes as if he's bringing a school presentation to a close.

"Wow," I remarked in wonder. I looked back up at the stars, and all of a sudden they became so much more than just white speckles dotting the night sky. For the first time I really began to ponder what, or who, could really be out there.

"So... My baby alien was a spaceman? He came from out there?" I asked in wonder, my eyes locked with the same bright stars as his were. Craig picked the stuffed toy off of the roof beside him. The poor little guy must have fallen out the window with us.

"Sure," Craig replied. "His ship probably crashed. That's probably why he's here."

"Gah! But how's he going to get back home then?" I cried out in concern.

"I'll take him with me when I go to space," Craig decided after a moment of thought. "I can find where he lives and bring him home."

"Really?" I asked in awe. At that time I'd thought of Craig much more like a superhero than another little boy. He was someone much cooler, much braver, than anybody else I'd ever known before. "What are gonna do with him 'till then, though?"

"Take care of him," he instructed, holding the stuffed animal out for me to take. I took the toy in my hands and looked down at its little alien face, suddenly feeling really bad for not loving it before.

"Okay," I agreed before petting its plush head. "We should give him a name. Like Bob."

Craig actually laughed. "What if he's a girl?"

"... Then her name will be Bob!"

Craig smiled again, his eyes trained on Bob as I stroked her soft, fuzzy alien face. "Maybe you could come too?"

"Gah! What? Me?" I stuttered in surprise. "I can't be a spaceman! I'm not brave like you are!"

"You are, too! You were brave enough to fight me."

"Um... Well I guess I was..." I murmured dejectedly. "Fine! But you can't go back on it now that I said yes!"

"I won't."

"Promise?"

"When I get a rocket ship I'll take you to space with me," he reassured more excitedly than I'd expected. "I promise."

And so we spent the rest of the night lying out on the roof with Bob, talking about what it was going to be like when we finally left the atmosphere, and making plans to decide how we were going to get there.

...

"Wait, so you drove here?" I ask in confusion as Craig runs out to the drive. His dad's rusted old red truck sits in park beside the house, and I trail behind him as he jogs to it. I sink into the soft grass of my front yard, chilling the bottoms of my bare feet as the cool blades get stuck between my toes. It's dark, so my only source of light is the faint glow of the pure white moon. It peeks down at us from behind the dying, yellow leaves of my neighbors' tree, and I can't help but wonder what it's really like all the way up there. I stop at the edge of my yard, watching as Craig pulls on the red handle of his truck.

"Got my license Thursday," he explains, his voice devoid of any sort of excitement as he climbs over the truck's seats and digs through the dash for his carton of cigarettes. Craig's such a weird teenager. I thought getting a license was a big deal, like when Token got his and drove us all out to the movies to celebrate. I can't believe he's been hanging around my house all day and didn't even mention he drove himself here. Well, that might be a part of why he showed up at three o' clock this morning. My house is a long way from hers, so a car definitely makes the trip easier.

After our heated moment in the bathtub this morning he decided to stick around, so we pretty much spent all this Saturday eating cereal and watching old cartoons. His phone kept going off in the middle of our Courage the Cowardly Dog marathon, but when I asked who it was he didn't answer; he only turned off his phone and sunk back into my bed sheets. It was one of those moments where I felt like he was keeping something from me, like when my friends whisper secrets to each other but won't include me.

"Oh!" I let out in a celebratory tone. "That's awesome!... Maybe now you can come see me more."

Craig chuckles in a way that barely even qualifies as a laugh, and then leans out his car door with a cigarette dangling from his lips.

"Maybe," he murmurs around the filter, that mischievous smirk working its way onto his lips again. At first I wasn't sure what to think of that sly grin, but after I realized kissing and touching usually follows I've grown to love it.

Dissatisfied with standing ten feet away from him in the grass I skitter across the cold concrete of my driveway, groaning at the freezing sensation on the bottoms of my feet. As I lean on the truck he pulls a blue lighter out of his shirt pocket, trying to ignite his cigarette with a few unsuccessful flicks. A red flame finally thrives from its metal mouth, licking the end of his cancer stick before he takes in a heavy puff. I hate the smoke that rolls out of his nostrils. It floats upwards towards the thick night sky, disappearing into the air after polluting his lungs. I hate the smoke, but I love the smell. Craig started indulging in such filthy habits when he was only fifteen, and the scent of nicotine and alcohol lingers around him sometimes. Whenever I catch a whiff of such things my brain immediately registers an image of him leaning beside my open window, smoke rolling out of his mouth or vodka slipping down his throat as he keeps his ice blue eyes closed in relaxed ecstasy. He always has such a soft expression when he's puffing on a cigarette or sipping on a long-necked bottle, although I don't really know why. He says it's because it makes him feel better, like me with my coffee.

Except, you know, I can't get arrested for drinking coffee.

I wrap my arms around my chest to help keep warm against the cool gusts of autumn. They rustle the yellowing leaves all round us and cause flimsy tree branches to sway in the night. Craig looks over at me from his spot lounging out of the side of the truck. Watching his sharp, thin eyes flutter shut with an inhale of nicotine makes me want to lean over and give him a kiss so that I can taste it on my tongue. I can't kiss him here, though.

Not outside where people can see.

He puffs away on his cigarette as I twiddle my thumbs, stealing looks at the side of his face as he does so. He's long since changed out of his fancy clothes into a dirty shirt he left beside my bed and a pair of baggy grey sweat pants. His hair that was once slicked back with gel is now sticking all up over the place because he fell asleep during our cartoon marathon without washing it out. Even when Craig's dressed like a slob, my messed up brain somehow still finds him so incredibly fuckable. My face flushes pink as my mind falls so deep into the gutter it may not find its way back out. I keep going back to this morning when he followed me into the bathroom. Every time the memory of his jerking hand and excited pace of breath crosses my mind I feel my body shudder, and I had to stop myself so many times from asking him if he would do it again.

I'm sure he would have been happy to fool around again, but I don't want to let him know just how much I crave it.

Everything is silent besides the faint sounds of disturbed leaves, a neighborhood dog barking somewhere in the distance, and the endless amount of sexual fantasies playing on repeat in my head. At least until Craig turns his phone on. He looks down at it with a sigh when it immediately starts vibrating, his face being set aglow as notification tones blare out its speakers over and over from all the messages he ignored today.

It sort of makes me feel special knowing he ignored everybody else and spent the day with me.

He sits his phone on his knee to let the messages run their course, indulging in nicotine as I watch the screen of his vibrating phone light up. I'm being a snoopy little shit, hoping that maybe I can catch a name flashing on the front of his phone, but I've no such luck. His cigarette hits the cement before he crushes it under his steel toed boot.

"Get in," he orders suddenly before jerking around to face the steering wheel, taking me off guard and making me jump.

"Gah! Huh?" I shout in confusion, my face surely twisting.

"Get in," he repeats himself patiently. "I want to check on Clyde."

I'm baffled by his sudden urge to run back to his house at ten at night just to peek in on our friend. If he's worried about Clyde for some reason I'm sure a text message would suffice. Nonetheless, he pulls the door closed with a slam. I hesitantly obey his wishes, scurrying around the front of his truck before pulling open the passenger door and crawling up into the seat. When I pull the door closed he's digging in his pocket for a set of shiny silver keys. I poke around the interior of this familiar truck. Craig's dad has had this old thing for as long as I can remember. He used to drive me home in it when his wife took their van to work, so I know this thing like the back of my hand. It's a weird feeling seeing Craig sit where I've only ever seen his father sit before, and suddenly everything hits me at once like a punch to the gut. I realize just how many years have passed by. When I first met Craig he was an innocent visionary, bigger than me but still very much a little child that barely came up past his father's hip. He isn't that person at all anymore. He's been hardened by the stresses of everyday life. All traces of innocence and wonder have been stripped away, which molded him into the wordless and callous man he is today. I guess I'm not really the same person I used to be either. Before I met Craig I was unimaginative and lonely, but far more independent. Sometimes I wish I was as self-reliant as I was back then.

So much has changed since our loyal friendship was birthed with nothing more than a merry-go-round and a peanut butter sandwich, but knowing we're still here together despite all the change and hardships we've endured gives me hope. It gives me hope that by time this mess we've got ourselves into is sorted out, the two of us will still be together.

Not Craig and Bebe, but Craig and Tweek.

When he turns the key in the ignition the overworked engine sputters and spits as it struggles for breath. I peek through the windows when we pull out of the drive, and then watch my house disappear in the darkness behind us. One thing I like about how little my parents care is that I can just get up and leave in the middle of the night and they won't be the slightest bit concerned when they find me gone. It wouldn't matter right now anyway because my household, along with all the other cookie-cutter houses in South Park, is asleep. I'm not quite as cozy as the rest of the town. I'm not curled up under a warm blanket with the security of locked doors and windows, but Craig being here with me is all I need to feel safe. I look over at him as I rock back and forth, my panic disorder getting the better of me yet again. His body is dim in the shadows of the night, but the faint glow of our headlights gives me a full view of his face. Seeing him beside me and hearing rubber tires rolling over asphalt lulls and relaxes my mind, so I allow my eyelids to fall closed.

I imagine Craig and I are leaving.

We're leaving for good and going someplace far away from my neglectful parents, far away from his girlfriend, and far away from everything that's been causing me pain. We're heading out of Colorado. The wide open road is inviting us to go off into the world and find somewhere else where we can be happy together. Somewhere where we can live a peaceful life, and I can finally stop hurting inside. Billboards pass by us as I stretch out my aching legs, and I wonder what things will be like when we finally get where we're going. I feel myself smile at the thought, because I know as soon as we get out of the mountains it'll just be Craig and I. I can't wait to run my fingers through his hair without a shred of guilt. I can't wait to hold his hand in mine, to litter him with shameless kisses and not care who sees.

I wonder what kind of house we'll live in.

"Craig?" I whisper his name in a hushed tone, my eyes lazily cracking open so that I can see him again.

"Hm?" he murmurs, his mind distracted as he concentrates on the road ahead.

"What kind of house do you want to live in?" He looks over at me for a split second, obviously confused by the random question. He doesn't say anything, so I assume it's because he thinks I'm being weird.

"Come on," I plead, wanting his answer to help fuel my romantic fantasies. "Tell me."

He sighs, and I actually think he's taking a moment to give it some thought. "Something small with no neighbors," he concludes.

I smile at him even though I know he isn't looking at me, and I allow myself to linger on his familiar features as my pretending continues. "Maybe one with an extra room so you can make it a studio. So you can have a place to record your songs, you know?"

A little half smile hesitantly tugs at the corners of his lips. "Maybe... Why're you asking?"

"Just wondering," I hum softly, although I think he caught the rise and fall of excitement in my voice.

I shouldn't torture myself this way. I shouldn't allow myself to get excited over make-believe, but make-believe is what makes all this a little less painful.

The street ahead of us is dark, illuminated only by our headlights as the yellow strips of paint in the middle of the road fade in from the blackness. I'm still dwelling on unrealistic fantasies when he reaches up to adjust his rear view mirror, and as he does so the short sleeve of his shirt pulls up. My face scrunches up in concern when I catch sight of the newly exposed flesh.

"Um, Craig?" I murmur softly. "What happened to you?"

"What?" he asks as if I've lost it. I haven't lost it, though. When his sleeve pulled up my eyes immediately focused on a set of wounds, dark red half circles that I can only describe as deep teeth marks. Somebody bit him, and they bit him hard.

"It... What happened to your arm?"

He retracts his hand from the mirror, his short sleeve falling back down over the wound and blocking it from my view. I'm waiting for him to say something- to explain what happened, but he doesn't. He just sits silently in his seat, both hands clamped onto the steering wheel as he watches the road in front of us.

"Did someone bite you in a fight?" I ask nervously after a long moment of silence. I don't know how else to explain how somebody managed to sink their teeth into him. A fight seems like the most logical, likely way to me.

"No," comes the nasally reply.

"Could you at least tell me who did it?"

"No, Tweek," he persists. "It's not important right now, okay?"

I don't like this. I don't like people keeping things from me, especially not my best friend. Everyone always acts like I'm a child and its growing tiresome.

"When will it be important?" I ask, although I'm mostly egging this on just to be a pain in the ass.

He won't say another word, and no matter how much I implore him to explain the nasty bite I can't get anything more out of him.

...

When we walk in through the front door of Craig's house I immediately shake the cold out of my bones. It's always freezing outside around this time of year, even though snow has yet to cover the ground I feel like I've walked into a meat locker every time I step out the door. Clyde and Ruby look up at us in surprise as Craig shuts out the cold behind me and I wrap myself tightly in his jacket. They're both huddled together on the living room couch, covered up with a gaudy blanket that looks like it was skinned right off the back of a tiger. The animal print definitely matches the rest of the decor. Mrs. Tucker has an obsession with wild cats, so decorations of cheetahs, Tigers, Lions, and any other jumbo feline imaginable litter their living room. Snacks are laid out on the wooden coffee table before them. All sorts of chips, popcorn, and pop cans are left sitting on the coffee table as the television plays a show I've never seen before. Craig looks relieved seeing Clyde relaxing on the couch with their little sister, as if he was expecting to walk in on something horrible.

Clyde situates himself under the covers, and before I can say hello he turns his attention to Craig and asks. "Hey! Where've you been all day, bro?"

Craig sighs before kicking dirt off the bottom of his boot. "With Tweek."

"Should've guessed," Clyde chuckles in relief. He gives me a quick look over, his brain putting together a puzzle that I myself have few pieces to. "Well, Bebe's been calling for you. She said you ran off from her place last night and weren't picking up your phone."

"That's why you texted me?" Craig asks, seeming a bit annoyed.

"Well... Yeah. Did you guys fight or something?"

"No," Craig replies, but I'm not sure whether or not I should believe him.

"So you just ignored her calls all day for no reason?" Ruby scolds from beside her adoptive brother, obviously just as skeptical as I am.

"Why do you care?" Craig argues flatly, middle finger quickly extended in defense.

"Because Bebe is a really nice person and if you fuck this up I'm gonna kick your ass," she snaps back with the same obscene gesture. Realizing how strongly Ruby feels about Bebe makes my stomach hurt.

"I'll call her later. I just came to check on Clyde," Craig huffs in exasperation.

"Aw, you didn't have to drive all the way back home just to check on me," Clyde assures with a sloppy grin. He throws an arm limply around the girl next to him and pulls her close. "I got Ruby here if anything bad happens."

If anything bad happens? What's that supposed to mean?

"Yeah, he's got me!" Ruby declares, "So go call your girlfriend, numbnuts."

Craig gives her a mean look, but she shoots one right back. With the roll of his eyes he pulls his cell phone out of his pocket, and then gravitates to the kitchen for some privacy.

"Oh, you've gotta use the house phone!" Clyde calls after him. "We're all out of rollover minutes!"

Craig doesn't reply. Clyde shrugs, and then kicks back on the couch by resting his feet on the coffee table. Ruby smiles up at me from beside him.

"Come sit, Teacup," she offers happily, patting the spot between her and Clyde. It's frightening how one second Ruby's about to bite Craig's head off and the next she's beaming at me from the couch. She can be scary sometimes, but with me she's usually really sweet and lovey. Maybe that's why I'm so comfortable following her commands. I wander around the coffee table to their big teal couch, and then wiggle my boney butt in between her and Clyde.

"Why don't you take off that heavy jacket?" Clyde asks as he pulls some extra blanket fabric out from under him. "It's warm enough under the covers."

"Um..." I mumble as I rack my brain to make up an excuse to keep it on. I'm thinking about asking Craig if I can just have it. I seem to wear it more than he does now-a-days, and he made it clear that he didn't care all that much for it. Since I seem to be at a loss for words Ruby decides to help me out of it herself, pulling the unzipped cloth down my shoulders.

"I don't know why you wear this gross thing, anyway," she admits while freeing my little hands of the cloth. "It's barely holding together and it smells like Craig dunked it in Axe."

She tosses it carelessly to the floor like it's nothing more than a wadded up old tissue. My eye twitches as my beloved garment disappears behind the arm of the couch. They keep all their disgusting mud-caked shoes there, and the thought of Craig's jacket touching something so filthy is enough to make my brain explode. I want so badly to scream in horror, launch over an unsuspecting Clyde, and snatch it away from all the dirt and grime. I can't, though. What would they think if I had a tantrum over something like that?

In through your nose,

Out through your mouth.

Ruby rearranges the blanket so that I can wrap myself in it too, and I allow myself to settle into the fabric although I really don't want to.

"Um... Whatcha watching?" I ask, my whole body shaking anxiously because I know Craig's jacket is lying on the dirty floor, and it's really hard to pretend to be calm when I know something precious is being desecrated.

"It's this T.V. show where people prank their moms," Clyde informs me with a laugh. "It's really funny."

"Oh, that's... great," I mumble. My eyes are focusing on the bright colors of the television screen, but my mind is still restless. I sit squished between my friends for what feels like eons as I fight the urge to rescue Craig's coat.

"I gotta go to the bathroom," I blurt out while jumping up off the couch. Consequently, I stumble to the floor, my cheek imbedding into the carpet when I face-plant. The tiger-striped blanket and the two other people wrapped in it nearly get yanked to the floor with me. Ruby and Clyde both make a quick grab for the covers so that I won't knock over the coffee table or pull them to the floor as I struggle to untangle myself.

"Wow, where's the fire?" a deep and nasally voice asks. I don't reply because I'm too busy scrambling for the jacket bunched up beside the couch. When I finally get my hands on it I push myself up off the floor, and then reach up as high as my little arms will stretch to gently hang it up on the highest coat hanger where it will be safe. Both Ruby and Clyde are looking at me as if I've completely lost it, so to make my bathroom claim believable I scurry to the staircase.

Only when I lose my balance and nearly trip up the steps do I realize how horribly pathetic I'm being. That seems to be the one word that describes me best recently, but I've been doing pathetic things for quite some time now. Begging for his kisses, searching for his smell in my pillows, and forming a horribly dependent attachment to his warn out old jacket just seem to be my newest ways of being despicably pitiful. Most times I feel like I'm less than human because of this thing- this horribly unhealthy obsession that defies any rational or logical thought. He has become the center of my everything, the one influence in my life that's been there so long I don't even know who Tweek really is without him.

Sometimes it scares me, because Craig's pretty much always been a permanent fixture in my life, and I don't know what I'm gonna do with myself if he ever leaves me. Even just the thought is too difficult for me to bear, so once I get up to the landing where no one can see I sit up against the wall to do my breathing exorcises. That's when I hear a faint murmur through the floor. It's coming up from the grate beside me, which just happens to be connected through the kitchen. It's so muffled I can't make out any words, but I immediately recognize it as Craig. Curiosity gets the better of me, so I lean my head down against the cool metal to try and hear what he's saying, but it's no use. I get up off the ground with a sigh, and then stumble to the bathroom down the hall. Here I lean over the marble sink and splash a little water on my face to help keep myself grounded. I turn off the spigot, and move to walk away when something rather tempting catches my eye. A cordless white house phone is sitting askew on the edge of the sink. I blink at it for a moment, because I know that isn't where it goes. I pick it up. It feels so bulky and heavy in my hands, and the longer I stare at the keypad the more the gears in my head start to spin around.

I shouldn't do this. No matter how bad I want to I know what he's saying to her I shouldn't do this.

I lock the bathroom door, and then plop down on the toilet seat. That damn talk button is staring me right in the face, and I know that if I push it I'll be able to hear every word that passes through the phone line.

Come on, Tweek, you can't reduce yourself to listening in on Craig's conversations. I know you want answers, but this isn't the way to get them. Just think about how mad he'll be if you fuck up and he hears you.

I banish my conscious from my mind as I push in the talk button, and then hold the bulky house phone against my ear. At first I think there's something the matter with the thing, because I only hear silence, but after a moment Craig's gruff voice flows from the speaker.

"I'm sorry," he grumbles apologetically, his voice low and unsteady like a kicked pup.

"It's okay...," I hear someone far more feminine sadly forgiving him for whatever it is he'd done. Her voice is still such a lovely and soft sound even with its waver of concern. "I just got worried when you didn't answer my messages, where'd you go anyway?"

I lean forward on the toilet, covering my mouth to be sure they won't hear me breathing. I shouldn't be listening in. I know that Craig wouldn't want me to hear any of this, but I just can't put the phone down.

"Tweek's," he says matter-of-factly without an ounce of remorse lingering in the word. I wonder if it's because he really feels no shame or if he's just a good actor. Probably both.

"Oh, good." When I hear her sigh in relief my stomach lurches up where my lungs should be. You shouldn't be relieved that he was at my house, Bebe. You should be angry and jealous like I am when I know he's with you.

"You know I wasn't trying to make you mad, right Baby?"

My heart is immediately floored.

I never heard her call him that before. He isn't her baby, he's my Craig. That ridiculous pet name she's using is not appropriate for him at all. I of all people would know. He can be called a lizard, a skyscraper, or even Godzilla, but he cannot be called 'baby'. It makes my head pound with fury, and I have to hold the receiver away from my face so I won't accidentally breathe too heavy into it. Craig would be so upset with me if he knew I was doing this.

"I know," Craig's raspy voice replies. "It's not your fault... Things have just been weird."

"Oh, because of Clyde?" She asks innocently, trustingly.

"Yeah," he replies. I frown, partly because I just realized Bebe knows something I don't about one of my friends, and partly because I think Craig is lying to her.

"Is he doing any better?"

"I think, now that those damn doctors finally know what's the matter with him." I lean back against the toilet and pull my legs up against my chest as quietly as possible, waiting to hear something, anything, that could help me understand what's happening.

"...I didn't mean to ruin the night," he changes the subject with a sigh.

"Don't worry about that." Her voice suddenly changes tone, less anxious and a little more sultry. "Now you just have to worry about making it up to me."

"Oh?" he asks with the same heavy voice he uses when he wants me to work my hands around his stiff arousal. I can just imagine that sly grin spreading across his face as he looks down at me with need, but my heart stops beating when I realize that smirk isn't for me. None of this is for me, and it's tearing me to pieces.

"Mmhm," she breathes out with a giggle. "If you'll come over tonight and do my favorite thing it'd be hard to stay mad, but you'll have to do a good job or I might not forgive you."

"Your favorite thing, huh?" he asks with a mischievous chuckle. "I don't remember what that is, you should remind me."

My knees are starting to knock together, and by this point I know I should have put the phone down a long time ago. I don't want to hear any of this. I don't want to know what Bebe's favorite thing is, and I don't want to hear Craig - my Craig- get drawn in by her flirtatious advances.

"Oh, you're dirty tonight!" She laughs quietly. "You know what I'm talking about, when you-"

I pull the phone away from my ear, the tight grip I once had on it loosens until it slips from my fingers and smashes into the tile floor. They heard that for sure, but I don't care right now because I'm more concerned about this weird feeling gurgling up out of my chest. It's like someone just dropped a cinderblock on my ribcage and forced all of my guts up into my throat. It's getting so hard to breathe. I try to do my breathing exorcises, but when I draw in a breath it's too thick and shaky to follow through.

I can just barely hear a faint beeping ring out from the house phone lying helplessly on the floor, and the feeling only intensifies when I realize they've heard the crash and hung up the phone. Craig's gonna come looking to see who it was. He's going to see Ruby and Clyde in the living room, and then he'll know it had to be me. There's no use in even trying to cover it up.

Why'd I have to go and invade their privacy like that?

I curl into myself, pulling my legs tightly against my chest in an attempt to calm down. Floorboards creak quietly from somewhere in the house and I know it's got to be coming from the steps. I hear each stair groan under someone's weight, and their footsteps leading down the hall.

The door is locked, but that doesn't seem to be a challenge for who's behind it. The lock flips upwards, seemingly unlocking itself before the doorknob turns.

It's Craig.

Surprise, surprise.

He's standing in the doorway, tall and hollow looking as he peers down at my cowering form. He sees the phone lying on the floor, its incessant beeping more than enough evidence to condemn me. He doesn't say anything for a really long time; he just stands there, staring at the phone as if his mind can't process what it means. Eventually he bends down to scoop it up off the floor, clicks the end button, and then sets it back down on the sink where I'd found it.

He's looking at me, his eyes just as piercing as ever. What's driving me fucking insane is that I can never tell what he's thinking anymore. His face is blank just as it always is, just as it always was back when I could crawl around inside his mind. Yet, I've no idea what he's thinking now.

"Please," I nearly whisper, trying with everything I have not to let tears well up in my eyes. "Don't be mad."

He turns away from me and draws in a breath as if he's trying to keep himself from punching me in the face. That's probably exactly what he's doing, because if I was anybody other than Tweek he probably would have already done it. One of his big hands pinch the bridge of his nose, and I yelp when he raises a disgruntled middle finger at the phone.

At the phone instead of me.

"Never do that again," he orders firmly, his eyes still closed as he rests his forehead in his palm.

"Craig, I didn't mean to-"

"Never again... swear it," he demands, whipping around to shoot daggers in my direction.

"I just wanted to know why you came to my house yesterday!" I choke out louder than I meant to, my voice cracking because I can't remember the last time Craig was mad at me.

"Bebe broke my phone case." The explanation falls out of his mouth as a deep growl, sounding threatening enough to further provoke my shaking and trembling. "I freaked out and came to you to calm down, happy now?"

I'm left speechless, and I hide my face in my hands so he won't see the water falling out of my eyes. "You're always hiding stupid stuff from me! Why couldn't you've just told me that to begin with?!"

I feel my hands tear away from my face, and I'm startled to find Craig has gotten down on his knees. He's still fucking taller than me -go figure- but he's close enough to actually look me in the eyes. My shaking wrists are in the clutches of his tight fists, and I don't have the slightest idea what's going on.

"Whatever happens with me and my girlfriend isn't your business, just like whatever happens with me and you isn't hers," he explains, his furious stare fading into his usual blank expression. "Understand?"

Tears are still slipping down the sides of my face because I'm a wuss who can't handle even being talked firmly at, but he sloppily wipes them away with the ball of his wrist.

"I guess," I sniffle.

"Good." he hoists himself back up onto his feet, and once again he's too tall for me to reach.

AzyumiChan, Mad Aggy, TamiLove, Crazy88inator, Guest 1, PedoPanda-Chan, Smudgestar, and Guest 2. Thank you SO MUCH for all your awesome reviews!


	6. Notes and Novels

I always knew I was different than the other guys at school. Since I was a little boy I hadn't been interested in girls like they were. I wasn't always trying to get a girlfriend like Clyde was, I didn't get cute little crushes like Token did, and I didn't get kisses on the playground like Craig did sometimes. Still, I didn't really start worrying there was something wrong with me until I finally got a kiss of my own. It was on the last day of fourth grade when Craig's cousin, Red, got it in her head that I was her boyfriend. It was just the two of us under the slide when she leaned over with puckered lips and planted a kiss right on my mouth. I'm embarrassed to say that I immediately ran across the school yard and hid behind Token because I didn't want her to find me.

Because of that innocent little kiss a lot of energy was wasted that summer trying to understand what was the matter with my head. Boys were supposed to like girls, and I always just assumed that I did too. That's why it got really confusing when I didn't feel anything when I got a kiss from Red, but I got bubbles in my belly when I hugged her cousin, who just happened to be another little boy. I didn't realize what it all really meant until that summer when Craig and I literally began spending every day together.

It was bright and sunny the day Craig's mom decided to take the two of us out to the playground to have a picnic and some playtime. I think Mrs. Tucker and I formed a pretty close bond over that summer. I considered her the mother I'd always wanted and she just happened to love children, even the kind who had random spasms and accidentally made messes of her house. I'm getting off topic, though. That day wasn't about Craig's mom; it was about feelings, and how Craig and I finally made it to outer space.

"It's a rocket ship!" Craig blurted excitedly as he took a hold of my sleeve, his eyes glistening with more joy than I had ever seen before or since. "There's a rocket ship on the playground!"

"GAH! What? Who would just park a rocket ship here?" I asked in utter confusion, twitching and convulsing as my voice cracked in disbelief.

"I don't know!" He laughed, my obvious doubt not deterring his excitement in the slightest. "It's really there, though, I swear!"

"Come look!" he chanted over and over as he dragged me along behind him. Mrs. Tucker followed on our heels while Craig's short little kid legs pumped underneath him, and my even shorter little kid legs struggled to keep up. It was bright outside that day, the sun's hot rays beamed down on us as my giddy best friend literally jumped in joy. Healthy green grass crunched under the soles of our shoes, and the branches of lush oak trees shed pleasant shade all around us. It was just another perfect day that would've never even been if it wasn't for him.

"See?" he exclaimed, one finger pointed ahead of us as I was blinded by a white glare. The sun's light reflected off of something shiny in the distance, and the closer we got the more in awe I became. He was indeed telling the truth, and it was absolutely gigantic through my little green eyes. Tall, white, and metal, the rocket ship seemingly stood stories above me and my best friend. It had all sorts of familiar looking thingy-kabobs, like a set of yellow monkey bars that jutted from the side of the vessel and something that looked a lot like a slide coming out of the other. I assumed those things were alien space hatches, because those spacemen were excellent at disguising their superior technology.

"Gah!" I shouted in horror. "We shouldn't go over there, Craig! What if it's an evil alien's ship? What if they want our brains?!"

"Or," Craig presented another idea. "It's the ship of a spaceman from another galaxy!"

I convulsed, not at all liking what I was seeing. He let go of my arm and lurched forward, running towards the ship and whatever horrible dangers were lurking inside. I screamed out for him not to go, but he paid no mind to my pleas as he grabbed a hold of the metal ladder and scrambled up into the hull of the vessel. I couldn't see him through the rocket's white belly, so I ran around and around the horrible thing, stumbling over dirt clumps as I shouted his name repeatedly in a horrible panic.

"What's the matter?" I heard his nasally voice ask from above me. I halted in my tracks, nearly falling over as I came to a bumpy stop.

"Craig?" I asked in confusion as I looked up. I had to squint before my eyes would adjust to the sun's bright light, but when they did I saw him smiling down at me. His little Craig head was poking out of an opening at the top of the ship, and his grin was so wide that I could see the purple braces clinging to his teeth. It was so rare that he would smile wide enough often times I forgot he had them at all.

"Ah! B-be careful!" I scolded in fear of him falling out and tumbling into the dirt.

He disappeared from my view for a moment before I heard what sounded like cloth rubbing against metal. I was startled when a blue streak came sliding down a pole from the bottom of the ship. Dust exploded around the soles of his shoes as he landed, and in his unadulterated bliss he shouted, "Do you know what this means?!"

" _ _An alien invasion__!?" I squealed.

"No! We have a rocket ship now!" He declared. "Bring Bob, we're going to space!"

With that he ran back around the rocket, grabbed a hold of the metal ladder, and then scrambled back up into the hull.

"Gah! I don't know about this!" I shouted back. Bob was already held tightly against my chest, as I decided never again to go anywhere without her, but taking her up into an unknown vessel that could possibly be crawling with __hostile alien life forms__ _didn't_ sit all that well with me.

"C'mon, Tweek!" I heard him coax. I poked around the ship, investigating all the gadgets that looked oddly reminiscent of playground equipment. Its metal landing fins kept it pretty high up off the ground, so I timidly explored the underbelly where I found the hole Craig slid down from just a few moments earlier. Suddenly his face came into view as he peered down at me.

"There's no aliens in here," he reported rather flatly. "The spacemen who owned this ship must have abandoned it, but everything looks ready to launch!"

"But... what if we get lost in space and can't find our way back home, or we find aliens who aren't nice like Bob and they try to __eat us__?" I shrieked, burying my chin into the top of said alien's plush head as I squeezed her.

"Then we'll fight the aliens and chart a course back to earth," he assured me. "Come on, Tweek, you said you'd come with me."

He suddenly looked so sad. His eyebrows knit together and that face that once looked so happy had the most disappointed frown I'd ever seen. Such emotions weren't usual for Craig, not even as a child, so I was already pretty thrown off to begin with.

"Gah! Um! Maybe Clyde will go with you? I'm... too scared."

The little frown peeking down at me from the hole only deepened. "You don't have to be scared of anything. If we get lost we'll find our way back, and if we run into bad aliens I'll keep you safe."

There went those little heart flutters again, those happy, sweet, fuzzy feelings that reminded me of nice things like honey and sunshiny summer days like the very one we were having. Those feelings made my cheeks turn the most humiliating shade of pink, so I nestled my reddening face back into Bob's head so Craig couldn't see it. I still wasn't completely sure I'd be safe embarking on a possibly dangerous space adventure, but the rosy shade of pink on my cheeks was proof enough that I was going to tag along.

"F-fine," I shouted, Bob's plush alien skin muffling the sound, "but if something bad happens it's your fault, n-not mine!"

"Okay!" I heard his nasally voice exclaim, and every ounce of excitement that had slipped away was immediately restored. "Climb aboard, Spaceman Tweek!"

When I peeked back up at the hole he had disappeared, and I hesitantly found myself inching up the ladder with Bob safely tucked under my arm. When I hoisted myself up into the hull Craig was there waiting for me, his giddy grin still spread across his round, piercing-less face. There was a blue plastic table fitted into the round wall, where I assumed the previous spacemen made their plans and ate. There was also a hole to climb out of that lead to the monkey bars, and the pole Craig used to slide down was fixed into the metal ceiling. He explained to me where the control room was, and then had me follow him up yet another ladder.

When Craig, Bob and I finally got up into the top I was left amazed. We could see everything around us because of two large openings on either side of the circular room. They were big enough for any space bound astronaut to see all the stars and planets surrounding them. The opening to the left lead to the slide, possibly what the spacemen used to get out when they've landed on an uncharted planet, and to the right was an opening I assumed was a window for the captain to look out of as he piloted the rocket. What I found most interesting were the controls. The captain's chair was mounted into the floor, and before it was an odd looking steering wheel accompanied by a dashboard of plastic buttons and levers. Craig leaned out over the slide; his fingers gripped the white metal mouth of the opening as he did so.

"Me and Tweek are going to space!" he shouted down to his mother below. I came up beside him and looked down at the bottom of the slide where she was standing, an unopened picnic basket clutched by her side as she looked up at us. I can remember everything being so lively and vividly colored, her newly dyed hair shining in the sun's light and the bright color of her pink tank top contrasting with the flourishing green grass.

"Okay," she shouted back, "but don't forget to come back to earth soon. Even brave astronauts need to eat their lunch."

I watched her walk to a nearby bench where she could keep an eye on us before Craig took me by the hand and lead me to the controls.

"Do you know how to drive this thing?" I asked fearfully.

"No," he admitted as he plopped down in the captain's chair, "but how hard can it be?"

"GAH!" I shouted, all the horrible things that could have happened flashing in my mind as he griped the steering wheel.

He began to talk into an invisible radio. His left hand was cupped around his mouth as he alerted any other pilots in our airspace, filling the radio's silence with his own static noises. That's when he started counting down from ten to zero, his hand pulling back a yellow lever before mindlessly flipping switches and pressing buttons. "Liftoff!" he shouted while pulling hard on the steering wheel.

I was expecting the entire ship to lurch forward and shoot off into space at light speed. Instead I stood behind him, blinking at the trees outside and feeling quite confused because we'd yet to move an inch off the ground.

"Nothing happened," I murmured. "Is it broken?"

He looked back at me with his eyebrows raised, as if he didn't understand why I was asking. His eyes scanned the control room, and then he scratched at his chin in thought.

"Sit down on the floor," he suggested. After taking a moment to think about it I squatted down beside his chair. I sat flat on my bottom and curled my little legs around Bob.

"Okay, now close your eyes."

I squeezed my eyes tightly shut.

"Ten, nine, eight," he began to count down to lift off, and when he hit seven the floor beneath us began to vibrate. At first it sounded like the bottom of his shoes stomping on the metal, but I yelped and grabbed his chair as the gentle vibration transformed into more violent shaking. It felt like the whole world was moving underneath us.

"four, three, two, one! Lift off!" The sound of hissing filled my ears, like a jet of fire exploding underneath our engines; pushing us off the ground and propelling our humble space craft up off the earth. When my eyelids opened the sun's light was still shining in, but all I saw were stars. Hundreds of thousands of them splashed on the blackness around us as our humble spacecraft shot out of the Milky Way.

"We made it!" I shouted in bliss before launching up off the floor and throwing my arms around him. "We made it, Craig! We're in space!"

That's when I finally understood. I can still remember that moment so vividly. Hearing his lighthearted laughter erupt as my little arms squeezed him made my heart burst open in a way it never had before. He laughed, I cheered, and even though the sky was still a brilliant shade of blue all I could think of was how happy I was that Craig and I were finally exploring the universe together.

…

My mom took the day off today.

That in itself is really weird considering she usually gets irritated if she misses any work.

I'm lying in bed trying to distract myself from thinking about it. This will be the first day in forever I've had a parent home with me for a school morning, and it makes me feel too nervous to leave my room. I know sometimes I complain to my friends about my house being lonely when my parents are away, but at least when I'm alone I can do anything I want to without pairs of eyes scrutinizing my every move. For God's sake, sometimes if mom feels like I'm not clean enough she'll wipe down everything I touch with disinfectant pads like I have some kind of disease or something. I'm afraid to walk downstairs because I'm expecting to be chased around the house again. Well, that, and my mom kind of creeps me out, especially in the morning. She has these things she calls __rituals__ , but I think they're just weird stuff she does for no reason, like every time she takes something out of the silverware drawer she has to turn every single fork over before she'll close it. She also likes to flip the light switch off and on all while counting backwards to herself. There are too many odd things she does to list off, and she only gets weirder if I accidentally interrupt any of them. I remember once when I distracted her in the middle of her morning switch-flipping.

I was only six and had just smashed my skull against the coffee table. My head was bleeding, and I couldn't stop crying. I needed my mom to take care of me, just like every little boy with a nasty booboo does, so I ran into the kitchen to find her. Hearing my horrified squealing is what shocked her out of her counting, and once she forgot what number she was on all she could do was stand there and stare at the switch. I pulled on her dress and called her name, but she didn't even look down. I stood there for what felt like forever, looking up at her with tears in my eyes and blood dripping down my forehead as she stared intensely at that damn light switch. Dad was dumbfounded when he walked in on the scenario, and if it wasn't for him I would have never gotten taken care of. She was quiet and off for the whole rest of the day, and it was all just because she didn't get to finish counting.

The last thing I want is to distract her from her rituals, and I'm sure just having me around would be enough to throw her off so I roll around in bed for a while to delay the inevitable.

I'm tired, but I assume only getting a couple hours of sleep every night can do that to a person. It's always been hard for me to sleep. Insomnia pounds in my brain and caffeine courses through my veins, making that endeavor virtually impossible. Recently, though, it's been even worse. I find myself laying awake at night, wondering what it'd be like if I could just wake up to his face every morning, like I do when he accidentally falls asleep with me. I think about the way his skin feels, his mischievous cockeyed grin, the warmth of his body under my sheets, and when all those thoughts come crashing through my mind all I feel is emptiness. Emptiness, because I know when I wake up I'll be in bed alone.

Sometimes it all becomes too much and tears will soak into my pillow. I'd never admit that, that I've cried over him. It's stupid. Guys aren't supposed to cry over other guys, and I'm sure if he knew just how this is all affecting me he'd want to end what we've started. Maybe I shouldn't care. Maybe I should tell him that it hurts too badly and that I just can't do it anymore.

My therapist told me the other day that the most important person in my life should be me, that I shouldn't spend so much time worrying about everyone else and put myself first. That little piece of advice has put my brain in a tizzy. Sometimes I think she's right, because she's smart like Token is.

Shut up Tweek; you're being a twit. Just because somebody uses big words or has some fancy degree doesn't mean they're always right. You know who's most important in your life. Don't go acting like you're some strong, independent person just because you know how to lie to yourself.

The alarm on my phone begins to buzz under my pillowcase, making me jump about ten feet in the air until I realize what it is. I always sleep with my cell phone under my pillowcase on full blast, that way it'll wake me up if something really bad happens and one of my friends need to call me. That's only happened a few times in my entire life, but better safe than sorry.

After retrieving my phone I roll groggily out of bed. I feel like shit, and I'm sure I look like it too. Still, I don't want to linger around the house any longer than I need to with my mom lurking somewhere downstairs. So, I end up dashing down to the living room in my pajamas. Luckily I'm wearing a baggy green sweatshirt and an even baggier pair of sweatpants rather than my usual froggy pjs. I'd be mocked for sure if I showed up at school with those on.

The moment I step off the staircase I find myself face to face with my mom. She blinks in bewilderment as I almost just crashed into her and the basket of clean laundry in her arms. She looks me up and down; obviously not at all pleased with the way I look even though she doesn't say anything about it.

"S-sorry," I grumble under my breath as I shrink away from her. "For... almost bumping into you."

"Don't worry about it, sweetie," she says dryly before setting her basket atop the coffee table. "I left you something on the counter to grab on your way out."

I blink in shock, because Mom's never left anything for me on the counter before. Dad will do that from time to time on the rare occasion he thinks to pack me a lunch or brew me some coffee before they leave for work, but mom never has. I slip past her and into the kitchen, peeking curiously around the side of the refrigerator so I can see what she's left me. A brown paper bag rests atop the counter; she must have packed me a lunch...

I untrustingly give it a poke with the eraser of a pencil, just to make sure she didn't pack a wild animal that would eat my face off when I opened it. The contents of the bag tip back slightly, and then wobble back into place. It's definitely not a rabid possum, but it's not a lunch either. I carefully unravel the folded top of the bag, and jump back a few feet when I yank it open- just in case. For a little while I observe the thing, but once nothing happens I hesitantly decide to approach it. I dip my pencil into the brown paper and pull it towards me to see inside.

Hm, looks like the lid of a thermos tucked in there.

I finally feel trusting enough to pull it out of the bag, but it's not really a thermos. It's a clear plastic bottle with a cute froggy printed on it. It's warm to the touch on account of the hot brownish liquid sloshing around inside. I grip the green lid cover and pop it off, revealing a white lid with one of those convenient pull-up things on it.

I pop up the pull-up thing and take a sip.

Mm, banana flavored cappuccino. One of my favorites.

I feel something smooth rub against my pinky, so I turn the cup around. There's a pink sticky note stuck to the back, and a message is scrawled across it in fancy handwriting that looks so neat I accidentally mistake it for a computer font.

__'Some favorite things for my favorite boy. With love- Mom'_ _

I feel my bottom lip begin to quiver and my eyes get watery. I didn't think mom cared enough to know my favorite things. Yet, right there in black ink it says __with love__. It's not a phony __'I love you'__ like the kind she likes to say when there are people around or when she feels obligated. This is something completely different, something she had to put thought into, something she did to make me feel good. I don't think I remember her ever doing something thoughtful like this before, and it makes my heart feel like its light enough to float away.

I walk to the living room doorway to thank her. She's busy sorting the laundry and I'm nervous and awkward, so I decide to scrawl out a short message of my own on the back of an old piece of homework paper instead. Soon, I dash outside to get picked up for school, my new favorite froggy cup tucked away safely in my messenger bag.

I immediately notice something is amiss when I slip into the back seat of Token's car. Craig is laid back in Clyde's seat, and Clyde is sitting up front where Craig usually does.

I smile at him, but he only gives me a little half-assed lopsided grin back.

"Why are you in the back seat today?" I ask, fiddling with the strap of my messenger bag as I do so.

"Clyde wanted to talk to Token about Halloween," Craig explains. His guitar case is laying across his lap, and his rough looking hands are rubbing at the grey plastic.

"Oh yeah. October came quicker than I thought it would," I say. "What are we going to do this year?"

"Same thing as always."

I look up at him with an excited grin. I love Halloween. I can't wait to settle into that big bed in Token's guest room and watch scary movies together all night. I'll be munching on candy corn and burrowing behind Craig to hide from the television in no time.

"Your hair is crazy," he mutters from his seat beside me. He immediately starts picking at it, trying to arrange the wild stray hairs so I'll look more presentable. I think he's been picking up my parents' slack for so long he's starting to forget he isn't one, just like Token sometimes forgets he isn't everybody's mom.

"Urg! Everything about the way I look is crazy today. My mom was home this morning and, ugh... You know how it is," I complain before swatting his hand away. I start dragging my nails through my hair like a brush, so he starts tugging on my collar to straighten my shirt.

Sometimes people will stand really close to others that they care about and brush fuzz balls off of their clothes, or use their finger to tuck the other person's hair behind their ears. This sort of affectionate poking and pestering is picking, a very rare thing to witness Craig doing. I've only ever seen him do it to Bebe a few times before, so I'm suddenly left awestruck.

"C-Craig, stop pulling at me," I order, pushing his hands away again before adjusting my clothes myself.

My cheeks are red I'm sure.

****...** **

"Kenny, remember that thing we talked about called personal space?" I sputter shyly as I feel the scraggly guy peeking over my shoulder. He smells like cologne, but not in a sexy subtle way. Even when he just walks by the stench wafts into my nostrils, and the smell is so potent it makes my eyes water. If he thinks a good way to attract women is by scorching their nose hairs off he's sadly mistaken.

"Nope," he blurts. "What're you doing?"

"A free sketch, the same thing you're supposed to be doing," I remind him as patiently as possible. "It's due at the end of the hour, s-so you better start something."

With an annoyed sigh he plops down next to me and decides to spin around in his chair instead of doing his work like I reminded him to. He's okay to hang out with sometimes, but I'd prefer to take him in small doses. Sadly, Kenny McCormick doesn't come in small doses. He's been driving me crazy since he transferred to my art class a couple days ago. I always end up reminding him to get his work done before he gets in trouble, and I'm starting to feel like Token because of it. Not to mention he insists on calling me Dorothy because of the day he talked me into wearing Bebe's shoes, which is really embarrassing because people are starting to ask questions about it.

I never want to explain to my classmates how my so called friends pressured me to slip into ruby red stilettos. I'm pretty sure they all already think I'm queer because I have an unusually high pitched voice, the guys always say I'm effeminate, ( _ _although they never say it quite that nicely__ ) and yesterday a girl from class told me I strut like an angry black woman. ( _ _Which isn't true for god's sake__! __Out of all the things I do strutting isn't one of them__!) The last thing I want them to add to the ever growing list of ' _ _reasons why we think Tweek Tweak likes it up the butt'__ would be cross dresser.

Anyway, back to the cologne soaked mongrel spinning beside me. Kenny's also a master instigator, and since Clyde thinks he's cool he tends to go along with everything he says. The first day he transferred into this class he talked Clyde into playing keep away with my pencils, and yesterday they hid my homework like it was funny to watch me freak out over it. Ugh, Kenny McCormick is about as annoying as they come.

I sip on the banana coffee my mom brewed for me this morning. The bright colored bottle and generous dose of caffeine is helping to relax my nerves.

I peek over at Clyde to distract myself from the sound of Kenny's squeaking chair. He's in the zone, his pencil sketching carefully as he draws my messenger bag to the best of his ability. His red jacket's bunched up around his wrists as he fills in the paper with long strokes, and he's absentmindedly gnawing at his bottom lip. I've been keeping a keen eye on him over the last week, ever since I heard Craig talking about something being wrong with him. I haven't noticed anything different, though. He doesn't look sad or upset like you would think somebody who isn't doing well would. Craig mentioned doctors, but he doesn't look sick.

It's just been worrying me. I love Clyde; I don't want him to have to go through anything more than he already has.

"So, how do you do this?" I hear someone ask, startling me out of my thoughts.

"Hm?" I murmur before turning my head and looking at the blond beside me.

"The assignment, how do you do it?" he asks while twiddling the corner of a blank piece of paper.

"Oh, um... Well." There are eraser marks all over his paper, so I take it from him and flip it over so he'll have a blank canvas. Immediately I regret this decision.

"... Really?" I ask with a cocked brow, pointing at the doodle of a fully erect penis scribbled onto the page.

He snickers and covers his mouth with his hand to muffle the sound. I can't help but roll my eyes, amazed at how immature he can be before crumpling up the tainted paper and pushing it aside. After pulling a fresh sheet out of my sketchbook I set it before him.

"It's just a free sketch. You can draw anything you want... As long as it's school appropriate, anyway..."

"Well damn," he groans in frustration before plucking his pencil off of the table. "I only know how to draw dicks."

Clyde laughs at his vulgarity. I cringe at it.

I don't really like being around Kenny when Craig isn't with me. His perverted nature and abrasive personality are hard to deal with when I don't have a six foot brick wall standing between the two of us.

"Gah! Well, try something else!" I snap. "Like a tree or something; trees are pretty easy."

Kenny stares blankly at his paper for a while as I go back to my own drawing. I'm not a very good artist like Clyde and a lot of other people in my class, but I guess I do okay when I have something to look at. Since the tables are so big Clyde and I usually set our stuff up on them, so today we decided to go ahead and draw each other's backpacks. I thought I ended up with the short end of the stick, because while Clyde got to draw my relatively plain messenger bag I had to draw his overly complicated batman book bag. That's why I changed it up a bit and decided to try to freehand a rocket ship.

It's not turning out very well.

Kenny suddenly bends over in his seat, fishing his guitar case off of the floor and hoisting it up onto the table. He's probably abandoned the assignment to play around with his guitar. Kenny's never been one to actually do anything he's told, I bet.

He lays the case down before him, picks up his pencil, and starts sketching it out.

I'm taken by surprise, but take this as an opportunity to draw in peace.

I'm engrossed in my space ship for quite a while. My tongue is sticking out of my mouth as I try my best to make it look good, but I end up being horribly distracted by a gorgeous piece of artwork that's been unfolding on a brick wall across the room. It's a mural in progress, but I can already tell whoever's been working on it has a lot of talent. Coincidentally, the main focus seems to be of a tree. A tree that's shaped as if it were a woman. Its branches unfurl from her slender arms, reaching up into a rising sun as things like picture frames and jewelry hang from them. I don't understand the symbolism, but I still take time to marvel over it every day. Since the beginning of the year I've watched that wall slowly transform from a white, lifeless space to a vivid masterpiece, and I'm always excited to walk into class and see how much further the artist has gotten.

Today is no different, but when I look at that lovely art and back down at my chicken-scratch space ship I feel nothing other than jealousy.

Kenny and Craig are talented musicians, Token is an exceptional athlete in college courses, and Clyde can draw anything he can imagine. I feel really useless when I look around and see all the great things my friends and classmates are doing, because that's when I realize I'm not good at anything. I can't play an instrument, paint a mural, or run a marathon. I've never gotten all A's on a report card, preformed in a play, or done anything that's made my parents genuinely proud of me. Disappointingly, I've been on this earth for seventeen years and I don't have a single thing to show for it.

I want to leave something here.

My fingers grip at my pencil as I etch out a vessel, creating windows and stars as my fingers move on their own.

I want to leave something behind when I eventually disappear, something that doesn't have to do with the legacy of my parent's precious coffee shop or sleeping with other people's boyfriends. I want to make the world better, but I just don't think I can.

I don't think I'll ever be anything more than that weird kid that used to live down the road.

In my dismay I accidentally push too hard on my pencil, making it suddenly snap in half. I let out a disgruntled whine when I see my pencil's random imploding left a dark and ugly streak across my gimpy spaceship.

"Oops," Kenny coos as he peeks at my broken pencil. "You snapped that right in half, Dorothy."

"Ugh! I didn't mean to!" I groan before tugging at my hair. "Everything I touch just falls to p-pieces."

"Pfft. Here, want mine?" He asks, holding out his pencil for me to take. "I've already missed our last assignments, one more wont hurt me."

"Oh... Thanks, but you can keep it. I was just about to give up anyway," I murmur as I push my sketchbook away from me.

"Give up? Giving up is no good." The dirty looking blond frowns as he speaks.

"UGH! No, I'm no good. I can't draw or..." I grumble quietly. "I'm not really good at anything, actually."

"So?" He says while wiggling his pencil between his fingers. "Giving up isn't going to fix that."

"Huh?"

"I mean... Yeah, sometimes things happen where some five year old kid can paint like Picasso or some shit, but that's not real life, you know? Just because someone's good at something doesn't mean they were born being good at it. You've gotta find something you enjoy and work hard to make it a skill," he explains. I rub my eyes for a moment, unable to believe the guy sitting beside me is the same one that was just drawing dicks on his assignment a few minutes ago. I'm taken off guard by his sudden and unprovoked words of wisdom, so I don't say anything back. I'm just sitting here gawking at him like a retard.

"Um... Lets try this another way," he proposes before taking his paper and pushing it in front of me. "Fold this into a bird."

"Gah! What? I'm not good at folding paper stuff, okay? I did enough of that with hats when I was younger and trust me it wasn't a pleasant exper-"

"Shhh," Kenny hushes quickly. He leans forward, unzipping the pouch on the front of his guitar case before pulling out a rather colorful looking little book. He drops the paperback on the table in front of me, making me twitch. "Open it to page six, and then fold it into a bird."

I do as I'm told, and when the page falls open in front of me I realize it's detailed instructions on how to make origami figures. "Ugh! Kenny, I can't fold, okay? My hands get all shaky and I'll just mess up the paper."

"Stop saying you can't and just do it."

By now Clyde is watching us intently. His cheek is resting in the palm of his hand as I huff out defeatedly and attempt the first fold. Just as I expected, my hands start to get all shaky and nervous. All the numbers and steps start to blur together in my mind until I fuck up halfway through. Yet, as soon as I start grumbling about how stupid this is Clyde begins to cheer me on.

"Come on, Teacup," he urges. "You can do it."

So I try again, but only because Clyde asked me too and not because of Kenny.

I begin folding and folding the sheet over and over until there's suddenly a bird in my hand. It's wrinkled and made of paper, but it really does look like a bird. Clyde lets out sounds of excitement seeing the finished product resting delicately in the palm of my hand.

"See," Kenny coos as he leans back in his chair. "Now you can fold a bird. It's a skill, like playing guitar or learning to sing. You'll never be good at anything if you beat yourself down so hard that you never try."

"... I didn't know you were so smart," I admit.

Kenny laughs. "I'm not smart, just repeating something someone said to me one time."

****...** **

Somehow this has become the best day I've had in a year.

I've been sipping coffee and soft drinks from the froggy cup my mom gave me ( _With love!_ ) this morning, I actually had fun in my special education class today thanks to the origami book Kenny let me borrow, and, best of all, Bebe's been busy studying for some test so I got Craig all to myself. I got to sit next to him at lunch and everything. He didn't even care when I rubbed my leg against his underneath the table. It's almost like we're sophomores again, back before _she_ came along and everything seemed chill and simple.

We're in Government now. We're supposed to be taking notes over some educational film the teacher is forcing us to watch, but Craig and I have found better uses for our notebook paper. I'm doodling on my notes and he's piecing together some song lyrics as we pass a crudely drawn tick-tack-toe board back and forth. So far Craig's winning; he keeps blocking my O's.

I feel the folded up notebook paper poke into my side, Craig quickly trying to pass me the game before Mrs. Seizel, the Government teacher, sees. I snatch it from his grasp, and then flatten out the lined paper on top of my desk. We just started a new game, the last ending in a tie, so I quickly stick an O in the middle of the board. I'm just about to fold it back up and pass it to his desk when I glance over at him.

He's leaned forward and scribbling something down in his notebook, just like he always is this class period. His grey guitar case is leaned up against his desk, and the calloused fingers of his free hand are tapping away with some sort of rhythm. He's wearing a hooded blue shirt today. It's the one I like without any sleeves on it. His thin, pierced lips are softly moving as he silently reads over the words he's been working so hard on.

He catches me staring, the muscles in his arms tightening and loosening as he readjusts himself at his desk.

 _ _How come you're so muscular__? I scribble under the tick-tack-toe board as an afterthought before finally folding it back up and tossing it onto his desk.

I watch as he slides it over to his notebook and flattens it out. He blinks at it for a moment, reading over my question a couple times before an amused looking grin tugs at the corners of his lips. He scribbles me a reply, forgetting to take his turn before re-folding the paper and sliding it onto my desk.

 _ _I work out with my dad a lot. Does it turn you on__?

I look over at him with a shocked expression, but his nose is in his lyric book so I quickly reply with pink on my cheeks: __If you're gonna flirt in class at least be discreet about it__! Before shoving the paper back at him.

He smiles down at the page. I don't think I've ever seen him grin so many times in one day, but I really like it. It makes me feel good knowing that I make him happy enough to do that. Soon the note is returned to my desk, but I'm beyond confused when I read his reply.

 _ _Did you clean your pants with Windex__? He scrawled across the lined paper. ' _ _Cause I can practically see myself in them__.

I read over this a few times, but my brain seems to be lagging so I peek down at my sweatpants to make sure they haven't suddenly become reflective. Muffled snickering comes from Craig's desk, so I immediately look at him with wide eyes.

"What?" I mutter quietly in absolute confusion. "My pants aren't shiny."

He smacks his palm against his forehead. A few students are peeking back to give us dirty looks, so I look back down at the paper to decipher this riddle myself. Two and two click together, so I feel all the blood rush to my face in embarrassment when I realize he was mocking me with a cheesy pickup line.

Yes, I get to see all kinds of sides of Craig now that we're whatever we are. I get to see some I didn't even know existed.

Perverted Craig is one of those sides.

"Tweek, Craig," the teacher bellows from her desk after hearing our little exchange. "Do you have anything you'd like to share with the class?"

I stuff the note under my ass and quickly shake my head in a panic. Craig immediately responds with a raised middle finger. Sometimes I think he __tries__ to get us in trouble.

"Craig!" She shouts in agitation. "One more disrespectful thing like that and I will separate you two for the rest of the year, do you hear me?"

He quickly retracts the obscene gesture.

The rest of the class sits in an awkward silence as Craig and Mrs. Seizel have some sort of staring match. I think they're arguing telepathically through their brainwaves. I've no idea what they're saying, ( _I don't speak brainwaves_ ) but I think the teacher won because Craig soon lowers his head.

It's little things like this that reassure me Craig's attached to me in his own ways, too. Things like when our teacher uses me as a bargaining chip to keep him behaving in class. He isn't afraid of being written up, suspended, or getting screamed at by angry adults, but threaten to separate us and he'll straighten up pretty quick.

Once all the other kids go back to watching the movie I pull the note out from under my ass cheek.

 _ _You got us yelled at__ , I accuse in ink before tossing the folded paper back onto his desk.

 _ _I can't help it when you're over there being all cute or whatever__ , he replies.

Cute? He thinks I'm cute?

Suddenly my chest wells up with bubbles, and I clutch the paper in my hands while trying not to sputter at his choice of words. I don't think he's ever called me that before... I like it, but I won't let it show.

 _ _Whatever__ , I fume.

When the note gets circulated back to my desk I noticed he's placed an X on the board, continuing our game as a conversation unfolds underneath it.

 _ _You free tonight__? is written beneath my last reply.

 _ _Sure. My mom is home though__ , I remind him before placing a circle on the board.

 _ _Damn. I wanted to try something new__. He blocks my row with an X.

I feel my throat go dry as I wonder what he's implying. The first time he said he wanted to 'Try something new' resulted in his fingers slipping into my underwear, the last in a twelve minute long dry humping session. I should just stop replying to him before my head gets away from me and I end up with a humiliating case of mid-class wood. So far I've never asked to be excused from class to beat off in the bathroom, and I'm not planning on today being the first. I glance at him. He's watching me as his face rests in his palm.

Curiosity gets the better of me.

 _ _Something new__? I mindlessly place an O in a square.

 _ _Yeah. I'm wondering if you're as good with your mouth as you are with your hands__. He finishes off a row with an X, winning the game.

I jerk my head in his direction, my face only getting redder as what he's insinuating begins to sink in. Our eyes lock for a moment. His seem curious, heavy as he absentmindedly nibbles at his bottom lip. There's a glint inside them, a heated longing that is just for me. I know what he really wants, what he's slowly working his way to. I know what filthy things are playing in his mind over and over as if on an infinite loop like some bad porno with us as the stars. I know because the same movies play in my head, too. They're detailed fantasies of squeaking mattress springs and hot, supple skin against skin. However, my fantasies are probably much sweeter than his. While he dreams of bare naked bodies and sexual release, I dream of whispered sweet nothings and soft kisses.

Ugh. This all makes me feel like some kind of pathetic whore. Usually I'd shy away from any sort of sexual contact. The idea of my mouth being on someone else's body like he's suggesting would be enough to make me sick to my stomach, but he isn't just somebody.

He's Craig.

This is Craig, and he wants __me__. Somehow, that makes all the difference.

I swallow hard and trying my best to reflect the same look he has on his face to let him know I'm ready. I'll do anything to him he wants me to, and he can do anything he wants to me. He offers a small cockeyed smirk before going back to his lyrics.

Maybe I __can__ speak brainwaves. At least I can with Craig, anyway. It's good to know we haven't completely lost our Craig-Tweek telepathy in all this. I was starting to get worried that our secret was putting too much of a strain on our friendship.

The bell rings. I yelp, ripping up our note into pieces to hide the evidence before scrambling to get all my stuff together. Craig is sitting at his desk, waiting for me like he always does as all the other students jump up and head for the door. The horrible squealing sound of their metal chairs pushing against the linoleum makes him flinch. He hates loud and annoying sounds even more than I do, but that's mostly because it makes his migraines come back.

I finally gather all my things, slipping my froggy cup into the pouch on the side of my bag.

Just like every day before, Craig offers to carry my stuff.

And just like every day before, I won't let him.

I groan when we slip into the hallway and stay close by Craig's side to help combat my fear of crowds.

Suddenly, someone slams into me. My bag flies from my grasp, my drink slipping out of the side pocket before it all smashes into the hallway tile. I can't help but let out a horrified " _ _Oh no__!" as my most favorite froggy thermos hits the ground with a crack, splitting open as the carbonated liquid inside leaks out all over the dirty floor.

"Hey!" shouts the student who just caused the destruction of my mom's present. "Watch where you're going next time, you stupid-"

The guy jerks around to face me, looking absolutely infuriated as some sort of soft drink soaks into the front of his jersey jacket. It's Stan Marsh, just one of many popular socialites in South Park High. Usually he's pretty nice, but that rage filled glare plaguing his face makes it look like he wants to rip my throat out. Again I scream, and stumble back in fear until I crash into someone's ribs. I watch in bewilderment as Stan's furious scowl suddenly melts away with all the color on his face, his eyes focused on what's behind me. With that horrified look he has it must be something really bad! Ugh, __what if I bumped into a zombie__! I whip around quickly to get the zombie in my sights, but I'm met only with Craig.

He doesn't look happy. His narrow eyes are downcast with scornful looking brows as he glares hatefully at the guy who just ran into me. He looks just as mean as he usually does in the hallway as he crosses his muscular arms across his chest. When I turn back around Stan's already gone, so my weary eyes immediately focus on the clear liquid leaking across the speckled tile. Some students walk around the mess as if it doesn't exist, and a few stop with curiosity as I fall to my knees. I pull my bag up off the floor and hold it tightly to my chest so that it won't get touched by the sprite puddle.

"Your cup broke," I hear Craig mutter from beside me. He must have bent down while I was distracted with my bag.

I look down at the pitiful thing. The little cartoon frog's face is cracked right down the middle as a few stray droplets of sprite cling to its face. I feel my chest suddenly begin to well up as I reach down to hold it in my hands. Tears begin to pool in my eyes.

"Tweek..." Craig murmurs, his voice soft as water slips down my face. "Don't cry. We'll get another one."

Still, fellow students walk as a heavy current around us as we remain squatted on the floor. Craig doesn't care that we're in their way.

"No," I protest, trying my best not to sound like a spoilt child as I wipe at the tears on my cheeks. Guys aren't supposed to cry all the time, so I try my best to stop. "I don't want a different one! My mom got it for me. She wrote w-with _love_ on it."

Craig inches closer as I grieve bitterly. The current of classmates slows to a trickle, and I feel a big hand carefully touch my back in condolence. I squeeze the plastic together, watching the crack pull together and push apart as I do so.

"We can tape it," he says hopefully.

"I don't think that works for cups, Craig," I mutter sadly through sniffles. "Thanks for trying to make me feel better, though..."

"Better," he mimics softly.


	7. Sweet Nothings and Sour Somethings

A searing hot beam of light blasted out the barrel of an enemy's laser gun. The concentrated ray of light zapped towards us as we tried to make our daring escape. We had just fought our way outside the prison's walls, but more guards were waiting for us.

Many more.

"Look out!" Craig screamed in warning as a blast of light came towards us. We launched ourselves away from the beam with no time left to spare. In our panic we took off in opposite directions, losing sight of one another through the foreign planet's thick foliage. My feet carried me away from the scene as I tripped over branches and small mounds of bubbling, black tar. Thick thorns of alien plants tore at my clothes and left my exposed skin scratched and bloodied as I struggled to escape.

We were fighting in a war we knew we couldn't win, but the fate of an entire galaxy was depending on our triumph. Trillions of innocent lives would have been disrupted, if not destroyed, if we and our forces couldn't save them from the hands of a greedy intergalactic empire. Craig and I seemed to be their last hope. So, we found ourselves caught in the middle of a losing battle.

When I looked back only to realize Craig was no longer behind me, I wondered if that battle was worth all this.

I finally slowed when the sounds of the alien's weaponry and my fleeing friend became a distant hum, and then sought refuge underneath some unlucky spacecraft's wreckage. I hid there for a while; convinced my friend would soon be there to meet me at our designated rendezvous point.

Once I gathered my bearings, I unzipped the worn out old backpack that had been resting on my shoulders. A small alien life form was resting inside. Luckily she was unharmed, so I reached in and gently rubbed her plush skin.

"It's okay," I assured the infant. "Craig will be here soon, then we'll try and get somewhere safe."

Bob and I waited and waited for our companion to return, but to no avail. I knew the enemy aliens hadn't come after me, which meant our fellow spaceman was somewhere out there with a slew of them on his trail. I huffed, trying to collect myself before peeking out around the edge of a mangled piece of rusted metal.

After zipping Bob safely back up the backpack, I crept out of the wreckage, laser gun in hand, and nervously scanned the lush landscape. Odd plants of the likes I had never seen were growing abundantly all around me. Beautifully shaped flowers of indescribable colors were poking out from the thorny brush, and in the sky hung a large pink planet amongst an array of twinkling stars. It was a whimsical landscape, but I was far too afraid to pay any more mind to the scenery.

I sucked in an uneasy breath of the humid air, then, after making sure the coast was clear, I navigated my way around the ominous vegetation that had ripped my clothes all to hell during my escape. Searching for my beloved companion was no easy task, considering I knew nothing of that planet other than what we explored when we first landed in our ship.

Surely the enemy disposed of the precious spacecraft when they'd captured us.

I followed whatever tracks I could through the plants and mud, most of which were the oversized boot prints of the aliens that were trailing him. I remember being horrified in that moment, knowing that I was walking right into a confrontation and not having any idea how I was going to defend myself- let alone Craig.

I checked my laser gun. Only two cartridges were left. I wasn't surprised considering how many shots I, and the guard I stole it from, had fired during our prison escape. Still, I was hoping I'd have a little more to work with.

Suddenly, I heard the voices of our enemies resonating from somewhere nearby. In my horrid fear I began to run blindly in the opposite direction. Compressing my usual yelps and screams was hard, but absolute silence was needed if I was going to slip away undetected and rescue my fellow spaceman.

Again, I evaded them by running into the brush. My heart quickened its pace as I watched them pass me by through the thick limbs of a thorn bush. With a sigh of relief, I turned to continue on my way.

That's when I found him.

He was laying on his back in the clearing, looking much more like a little blue lump in the dirt than the fearless spaceman I'd come to look up to.

"Craig?" I asked quietly. He just laid there. His arms were limply sprawled out on either side of his head and his eyes were closed. I swallowed hard before making my way over to him.

"Get up. We have to fight the aliens," I demanded. "I can't do it alone!"

Still, he laid there lifelessly. He hadn't even flinched at my shrill words. His body was still limp, and all was completely silent. I thought he really got broken, like the people in the movies who fell asleep and never woke back up. Suddenly, we weren't lost on a foreign planet anymore, and I was no longer a brave space adventurer.

I was just Tweek, and Craig wasn't moving.

In my horrible fear I ran to him, but I paid no mind where my feet were landing. My clumsy footing caused me to stomp on the back of my own sandal, and the next thing I knew I was tumbling into the dirt. My chin was the first thing to hit the ground with a sickening pop. My crooked teeth all banged together as my tongue got caught in my throbbing jaws. I was left writhing as my skull vibrated and the muscle in my mouth became hot with pain.

That's when I felt someone's hands on my back.

"Are you okay?" The panicked sound of Craig's voice rang through the static in my ears. His alarm was baffling, considering nobody had ever gotten worked up over my clumsy little spills before.

"Gah! It hurts!" I screamed around my swelling tongue. My vision became blurred with tears as my friend's hands kept a gentle hold on my face.

"Show me where," came the nasally reply. My jaw was riddled with pain as it unhinged to show Craig my bitten tongue.

I tried to tell him my whole face hurt, but it came out sounding like some sort of muffled gibberish since my tongue was poking out of my mouth. Tears were soaking my face by time he allowed me to close my rattled jaw. He wiped them away with the sleeves of his jacket, and I was left in awe of the caring gesture.

"Ah! Why were y-you just laying there on the ground?" I finally choked out in confusion when his hands left my face.

"Token shot me," Craig replied. "I was being dead."

That was when the self proclaimed 'enemy aliens' heard me crying behind the bathroom stalls, and came lurking around the raspberry bushes to see what all the sobbing was about.

"Hey, what happened?" I heard Clyde, a.k.a. enemy alien number one, ask with concern. "Did Tweek get hurt?"

"He fell," Craig replied for me since I was too busy crying to do it myself. "I'm gonna take him home."

"Do you want us to help?" Token, a.k.a. enemy alien number two, questioned in his worry.

"No. We'll be fine."

He lifted me to my feet. Dirt stains were imbedded in the knees of my blue jeans, and a nasty red mark covered my entire chin. If I remember right, I cried the whole walk back to my house. I was no stranger to pain, considering my troublesome clumsiness and unnatural obsession with smashing my head into things when I got upset, but I was so distraught over tasting blood on my tongue that I kept loosing my footing. We stopped in the middle of the sidewalk after I tripped over my sandals for about the third time.

"Here," Craig said as he squatted down beside me. "Get on."

I let out a sound that resembled a dying cat, and after a moment of uneasy contemplation I slipped my arms around his neck. His hands hooked under the bends in my knees and hoisted me up on his back as he stood. After burying my face into his shoulder I let out a long string of embarrassed babbling, tears soaking into his jacket as I continued to cry. My living room was full of light when he finally carried me in on his back. It streamed in the windows as yellow tinted beams, leaving bright patterns in the carpet that changed as the tree branches outside swayed. My house was always a beautiful one to look at thanks to my mother and her compulsive obsession with cleanliness and perfection.

He backed up against the big green couch and kept a careful hold on my legs as he lowered me onto it. My butt landed softly on the cushion.

"Mrs. Tweek's mom?" Craig shouted into the empty living room. "Tweek got hurt on the playground!"

Only silence greeted him.

He kicked off his shoes by the couch before walking across the room and peeking into the kitchen. "Mrs. Tweek's mom?... Mr. Tweek's dad?"

Once he was again left with no answer, he decided to look for them upstairs. It was a Wednesday afternoon, so I knew he was searching through an empty house. My parents were busy catching the mid-day lunch rush at the coffee shop. They were busy people with a busy schedule. They had no time to spare for booboos and playground mishaps.

"Where are your mom and dad?" Craig asked once he found his way back into the living room. His eyes continued to scan the room as if he was sure he could find them somewhere if he just looked hard enough. I didn't reply, just sniffled through my hands as I pressed my bleeding tongue against the roof of my mouth.

With a far off look he went back into the kitchen. A small ruckus soon resonated from the arched doorway before he returned with a little pink bowl of ice and a rag. The couch cushion to the left of me sank in as he took a seat, and I watched through my watery eyes as he wrapped up the ice in the rag and held it to my busted chin.

"I think I've only seen your parents like three times," Craig noticed aloud as I trembled against his makeshift icepack.

"That's cause nobody's ever here," I muttered sadly through the pain in my mouth and the tears that were yet again falling from my eyes. "They work all day, then when they come home they keep working, then go to bed early just so they can wake up and work some more..."

"Who's here for you, then?"

"What do you mean?" I sputtered through a sniffle.

"If your parents aren't ever around, then who makes you better when you get hurt, or when you're sad? Who takes care of you?"

I think for a moment, and as the ice in his hand relieves the stinging on my chin I realize the answer.

"Ah... you do."

...

How is it possible that the best day I've ever had could suddenly become so bad? Does God hate me so much that he has to take every little thing I appreciate and bust it to pieces right in front of my face? Well, I wouldn't doubt it if he does.

Craig and I are walking side by side to study hall. We're already late because I had a bit of a mental breakdown on the way, and we stopped at his locker to get his jacket and some medication because his head hasn't been feeling good. I don't have any idea what I'm supposed to do with the broken froggy cup-bottle-thermos thing mom bought me with love. It's got a crack in it so I can't use it anymore, but I don't want to throw it in the trash can. Just because it's broken doesn't mean it's garbage. There're still tears clinging to my face over the ordeal, so I sniffle and wipe at them.

A gentle tug pulls at my sleeve. I glance over to find the cloth encasing my wrist pinched lightly between Craig's fingers. Maybe the little tug is his way of trying to tell me everything's going to be okay, or maybe he's just trying to keep me within reaching distance. Either way, I tightly wrap my little fingers around his thumb.

"Stan seemed really scared of you," I point out as the destruction of my precious cup replays in my mind.

"He should be," Craig mutters lowly as he rubs his temple with the ball of his palm. "Already knocked him out once."

"Gah! When? For what?" I squeak.

"He called me a pussy a couple years ago," he replies, his calloused fingers wrapping around the small hand clutched to his thumb as he does so.

"So you punched him?" comes the shrill question.

"No. I kicked the back of his leg and he hit his head on a locker," Craig informs me as if that somehow relieves him of all guilt.

"How have you not been expelled?" I shout, squeezing his thumb in disappointment. "Gah! Just because someone calls you a name doesn't mean you have the right to hurt 'em, man!"

He rolls his eyes, and I realize he's probably heard that a thousand times before. "If people would stop being assholes, I'd stop too."

"If I was being an asshole would you hit me?" I ask as if it will somehow make my point.

"I'd pop ya right now if I wasn't holding your hand."

I'm sorry, Craig, but that was the most adorable threat to cause bodily harm I've ever heard.

"No you wouldn't!" I call his bluff with a tremble.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"'Cause you know I'd kick your ass," I reply before limply punching the solid muscle of his arm with my free hand.

Despite fighting an impending migraine, a smile pulls at the corners of his lips. "You probably would kick my ass, just look at those arms," he says with the utmost conviction while lifting up our interlocked hands. I heave out an amused laugh, and then lazily bump against his side as we walk down our last stretch of hallway.

When I walk into class behind him my eyes immediately focus on the teacher, but she looks so preoccupied with her laptop she probably didn't even notice we were missing to begin with. That's good news for Craig, because I'm pretty sure he's one tardy away from detention.

The mini-bleachers look about as full as they can be with how few people are in this class. Clyde's thumbs are tapping away at his classic Game Boy as Kenny leans curiously over his shoulder to watch whatever game he's playing. It's probably Chinpokomon. Token is sitting to the left of them, a text book for some advanced class cracked open in his lap as he chats casually with her.

I was so preoccupied with my broken present and Craig's endearing weirdness it totally slipped my mind she'd be in last period with us. A heavy feeling puts an intense pressure on my lungs at the sight of her. She's looking up at Craig with a warm smile on her pretty face. I'll bet she was watching the clock, getting a little more nervous with every passing minute that he might have bailed and skipped class.

He used to do that a lot before she came along. We even skipped together sometimes and spent whole class periods out behind the school where he was free to suck on the filter of a cancer stick with no teachers around to suspend him over it. That was back when everything was normal, though.

Back when it was just the two of us.

"Well, well, well," Kenny sounds from behind Clyde. "If it isn't Dorothy and Godzilla."

Craig tries to ignore it, but he's immediately annoyed by the sound of Kenny's voice. I can tell by his extended middle finger. It's a fair warning to leave us alone before his hand moves to his temple. It looks like his migraine is beginning to set in. There will be no frustrated banter or beautiful music exchanged today.

Craig sets his guitar case down on the floor beside the mini-bleachers, and then takes a seat beside his girlfriend. I quietly slip in next to him. The giant leans forward and tensely rests his elbows on his knees. His head is being cradled in his palms as he sucks in a heavy breath. Bebe frowns before silently leaning on him. She uses her perfectly manicured nails to scratch and rub his back.

She's doing it wrong, though.

Her hand is rubbing around his ribcage in slow circles, but he likes it best when someone runs the ball of their palm in a line up and down his spine. Better yet, gently rubbing his earlobe would make him melt into her lap, and then she could massage his scalp to make his brain stop hurting. She doesn't know any of that though, so she just sits there rubbing his back in circles instead of lines like she knows what he likes.

I should be the one comforting him right now, 'cause I'm the only one who really knows how to make his headaches feel better. I know because he told me so the last time he was over at my house. We were watching television in my room when he said it. His head somehow ended up on my belly, and I massaged his scalp with the tips of my fingers. I can't touch him that way here with everybody around, though. Sure, it isn't a problem if I rub on his ear or play with his hair when it's just us and our friends, but at school with his girlfriend right beside us? He'd get angry at me for sure, and I think he still hasn't completely forgiven me for when I listened in on their conversation.

"Are you gonna make it?" Bebe asks lightly in a voice as smooth as silk. Her long, golden hair drapes over them as she wraps her arm around his shoulders and nestles her head against his. All he can manage is a nod in reply, and she's forced to let him go when he leans back against the steps behind us. Yanking on the edge of his hat, he pulls it down to protect his sensitive eyes.

"Oh, sweetheart," she sighs with a frown.

Craig should never be called the things she calls him, like sweetheart and baby. It just doesn't sound right... At least not coming from her. I'd probably sound better if he'd let me say it to him. Better yet, if he'd say it to me.

Actually, scratch that. If Craig ever called me his baby I would probably start crying like a stupid little wimp, and I've already done way too much of that shit over the last month.

I can already tell this period is going to go painstakingly slow, so I pull my messenger bag up into my lap to fetch my phone. This is a rather soul crushing endeavor considering the first thing I see is my busted froggy cup resting in the mesh side pocket. I heave out a disgruntled sigh at the sight and then pull open my bag. The poor thing is practically overflowing with school supplies. I reach into one of the many pockets lining the inside of the bag and fish around for my phone. We really aren't supposed to have them out in class, but time goes by faster if my brain is buried in the Internet. Especially since Clyde practically forced me to join that blogging site, tumblr. My username name ended up being froggycoffee because I'm about as imaginative as wet cardboard, but scrolling through endless pages of funny posts passes the time really well. Especially in this class.

"How's your day been?"

I yelp at the unexpected question and clutch my bag tightly to my chest. My eyes must be as big as saucers as I gawk at the pretty girl looking over at me.

"W-what?" I blurt in shock, my heart suddenly racing a thousand miles a minute. Being addressed by Bebe feels like taboo now. Craig said I can speak to her when spoken to as long as he's around, but I'd just rather not even fucking risk it.

It's like she's some sort of divine being he holds so high above me I'm not even allowed to look at her the wrong way in fear I might taint her. At least that's how it feels, and it's painful.

It's humiliating.

Degrading.

"Um... How has your day been?" She asks again, her thin brow cocking awkwardly as she stares at me.

"Good!... It's been good," I stutter a bit before peeking down at Craig. It looks like he's in a coma, but I'm sure he can hear all of my answers.

"Oh, that's good. We haven't talked in a while." She seems almost upset by that, as if I'm one of her best girlfriends and I've been ignoring her for a month.

"Oh... Sorry, I didn't think you'd want to talk to me," I mutter weakly while leaning forward against my messenger bag. Holding it like this is like cradling a close friend. It's comforting, calming.

"Why wouldn't I? We are friends, after all."

Jesus, see me through this.

I jam my hand into my bag and thank God when I feel my phone brush against it. Maybe if I stick my headphones in my ears and pretend to text she'll go back to talking with Token. I can't get in trouble that way. I'll stop feeling like such a two faced piece of shit, too.

"I was just worried I might've done something wrong..." she admits with a bit of a nervous smile.

Ugh, fuck. Don't look at me like that. You aren't the one who's been doing things wrong.

"No, no. It's nothing you did." I try my best to reassure her and throw off suspicion. "Why would you think that? Because I haven't been talking?"

"Well, that and you stopped hugging me back in the morning."

I blink at her for a moment.

"Oh... I um- Why do you always hug me, anyways?" I ask with genuine curiosity. I always thought it interesting that she'd go out if her way to hug me specifically. She gives hugs to a lot of other people, too, but it's almost as if she seeks me out.

She shrugs, her cute red sweater bunching up around her neck as she does so. "You just look like you could use one, I guess. Especially recently..."

Her voice drifts off a bit, and I find myself floored. Why is it not one of my friends have noticed how bad I've been struggling, but Bebe can see right through me?

"Oh... No, I've been alright. I guess I'm just not feeling very good is all." I hate how shaky and small my voice sounds when I'm under pressure, and talking to her with Craig listening to every word definitely counts as some MASSIVE pressure.

"Oh... Well, just so you know, you're an awesome little dude," she says with conviction. "You don't deserve to feel so down."

Suddenly I feel like my heart's just been smashed with a rock.

I watch a smile unfold across her delicate features as the sunlight streams in and gets caught in her golden hair. She's practically glowing, inside and out, and again I find myself questioning why Craig would ever want anything to do with someone like me when he's got such a sweet girl like her.

I feel like I'm constantly contradicting myself.

One moment I'm going on about how she could never care for him the way I do, and the next I'm wondering why he even wastes his time on me.

"Thanks," I nearly whisper. I want to smile at her in reassurance, but it's hard to even look her in the eyes when I think of all I've done to betray the trust she's seemingly given to me. All the filthy sins I've committed and all I've yet to commit roll around in my stomach until I feel like I'm about to vomit.

I manage a crooked half-grin.

...

Five of us are walking through the hall as a group after study hall. Token and Clyde are ahead of us. Their shoes, along with everyone else's, are squeaking against the linoleum. The high pitched noise makes Craig's jaw clench in frustration. I'm walking beside him while trying my best to keep my hands to myself. The packed hallway makes me feel so anxious. I'd like nothing more than to reach out and hold his hand to ward off my fear, or to feel him grab a hold of the back of my shirt and pull me closer to his side like he does when we walk to last period together. There's one thing that's keeping that from happening, though, and it's the blond cheerleader who's latched onto his arm.

We walk out of the school with the flowing current of departing students. It's starting to get pretty chilly outside now. I didn't really notice until the cold hit me like a brick wall when our group stepped out of the building. I tug uncomfortably at my green sweater, because although it's thick I can still feel a breeze seep under my loose fitting night clothes.

New objective added: gain possession of Craig's jacket.

There are big yellow buses lined up in a row alongside the sidewalk. Clyde always says school buses remind him of Twinkies (everything reminds Clyde of food) so that's what immediately clicks into my head. Some students run to their designated snack cakes as if their lives depend on it. Those kids are mostly underclassmen who haven't yet realized sprinting isn't actually going to get them home any faster. There are other kids that walk slowly, dragging their feet like boarding said Twinky would be a death sentence.

"Bebe!" a girl shouts from across the sidewalk. Her long, black hair sways behind her as she waves her arm, trying with all she's got to flag down her friend in the dispersing crowd.

"Wendy?" Bebe shouts back as she stops to scan the parking lot. Craig and I are both halted in the process, but Token and Clyde don't realize we've stopped.

The girl jogs up to us. She's wearing a pair of yellow skinny jeans that are bright enough to blind me. I kind of know her face from seeing her walking with Stan Marsh in the halls. I think they're dating, but other than that I'm pretty clueless about her.

"Hey! Millie is taking a bunch of us out to eat, wanna tag along?" Wendy asks while stuffing her hands in the pockets of her purple jacket. She's talking to Bebe, but her eyes keep shifting uncomfortably to the pierced giant she's linking arms with. I'm no stranger to that unsure and untrusting look in her eyes.

Craig gets those glances most days.

"Oh," Bebe mutters, bringing a bright red nail to her lips in contemplation. She turns to her boyfriend. "I guess I'm going out with the girls. I'll call you when I get home. Okay, sweetie?"

All this name calling is going to make me lose my lunch.

Still, he nods to her in agreement, and I'm relieved to know she won't be riding home with us.

She takes the collar of his black jacket in her dainty hands before getting up on the very tips of her toes. He bends down to meet her for a farewell kiss, one that seems genuine and sincere as his rough lips press affectionately against hers.

"I love you," she utters almost bashfully as a smile lights up her face.

"love you too," he replies in a voice I'd never heard.

The exchange is short and simple, something billions of people say to one another every minute of every day. Yet, as I watch Bebe run off to join her friends, I can't help but wonder how something so small could leave my chest feeling so... prickly. It's almost as if a bunch of burs got lodged in my lungs, and I can't cough them out. The moment her red jacket gets lost in the river of students my hand darts out to claim his. I grip it tightly, and when I feel him softly squeezing back all of the unbearable prickly feelings in my chest melt away.

My beloved ogre and I walk hand in hand together, just as we usually would, across the sidewalk and into the crowded parking lot. Now that his hand is in mine where it belongs, and his girlfriend is nowhere in sight, I finally begin to relax. We're leisurely making our way to Token's car when I just happen to notice a couple students eying us from across the sea of vehicles. They watch Craig and I curiously for a moment before one mutters something to the other. My eyebrows furrow with confusion when they burst into laughter.

I spend the rest of our walk trying to understand what's so funny.

Token's car is waiting for us in the same spot it always is, as far away from the school as possible so it won't get covered in debris from the trees. It's weird when I think about what happens to leaves in autumn. I wonder why they're only this beautiful when they're dying.

Token lays on the horn to hurry us along, but Craig just raises his middle finger. I chuckle at the exchange and bump lightly against his side. The first thing I notice when we come up to the car is that Clyde opted to steal Craig's seat up front again, so we climb into the back together. The engine revs, and I watch the back of Token's head as I pop my headphones into my ears.

My new favorite way to torture myself seems to be through music. Whether it be with my small collection of cliché songs about unrequited love and other sorrows, or the extensive arsenal of music written and preformed by my most favorite musician; I can't stop listening even though it almost seems painful. I suppose it's reassuring to listen to the lyrics and know I'm not the only one who's felt the way I do, that I'm really not as alone as I think I am sometimes. I think everyone feels like that when they listen to music they can relate to, like there's somebody out there who understands their struggle.

What's weird about my situation is that the lyrics to my favorite tunes aren't just collages of provoking words arranged by a faceless person, and the voice I hear seeping out of my ear buds doesn't belong to a stranger. All these songs, from the fast paced that make me dance wildly around my room to the soft and somber that lull me to sleep, were painstakingly written and recorded by a man that just happens to live a block or so away from my house.

The same one who's holding my hand right now.

I use my free thumb to scroll through the list of his songs I've collected over the years- some covers, most original. There's an album for each year and a title for every one. He's been recording his music on his sister's laptop and emailing them to me since before I had a phone to put them all on, so the artist 'Mr. Lizard' dominates my media player. I think he's sort of sensitive about the stuff he wrote himself, because half of his songs I listen to in my phone I've never heard in person. Still, he's always eager to show me what he's created- so eager that he sometimes forgets to title his songs before emailing them to me. I tend to substitute untitled media with my own fanciful titles when he does that.

I press down on my current favorite, a song titled The Whithers, and relax into the back seat as the somber twang of a guitar fills my ears. A familiar voice soon follows, and it's weird to think the guy belting out such emotional lyrics is the same stone-faced person sitting to the right of me.

"Would you guys mind if I asked someone to come along to the party with us?" Token asks abruptly from the driver's seat as we pull out of the parking lot. I barely heard him over my music, so I yank an ear bud out of my ear. "I'm thinking about bringing Nichole."

"Ohhhh~ Nichole," Clyde chimes in suggestively. "It's about time you sucked it up and asked her back out."

Craig agrees by nodding his head. Token notices the gesture through his rear view mirror.

"Do you mind, Tweek?" He asks absentmindedly after his eyes lock back onto the road. It's nice that he's asking for my opinion. Often times my quiet demeanor gets me left out of these kind of group decisions.

"S-sure," I force out. "Nichole's nice."

Token nods in excitement.

"You know, I was thinking..." he adds in thought as he keeps his eyes trained on the road. "Craig, why don't you bring Bebe to spend Halloween with us this year? Nichole will be more likely to say yes if one of her friends is coming."

I proceed to do a subtle eye roll. Sorry to ruin your bright idea, Token, but Craig's already got someone to go to the party with. I'm sure Nichole will be a-okay coming with our group, even if another girl won't be with us. There will be a lot of girls at the party, so I wouldn't worry too much about it.

"Um," Craig lets out in thought. "I guess I could ask her... She keeps going on about how we haven't seen each other enough recently."

...what?

"Oh, well that's great then!" Token rejoices.

No, wait. Let's rewind a second here. Craig just said he'd go with me this morning, that we'd spend Halloween together just like we do every year. How does he expect to hang out with me in the guest room if he brings heralong?

"Don't expect us to wear matching costumes or some shit like that. I'm still not dressing up," Craig utters tonelessly.

"Wait, but... Halloween is for us, Craig." I finally interrupt with a tiny voice, my heart melting into mush as my hand grips his tightly. "You can't bring her..."

He looks down at me with an unreadable expression at first, but after a moment it becomes conflicted. I know that look means he's quietly reconsidering, but Token decides to jump in before he can change is mind. "Everything is your guys' thing. There's nothing wrong with being close, but... it'd do you some good to break away from Craig a little bit. Maybe you'll do more than just hide in the guest room all night that way."

It'd do you some good to break away from Craig a little bit.

My chest is tightening up, so I stop and remind myself to do my breathing exercises.

"Gah! What! No, I-" I sputter at the back of Token's seat. My cheeks tint red and I feel my body shaking, an early sign of an impending panic attack. I don't want to share Craig on Halloween, and I don't want to be forced to stay downstairs in that big crowd of people all night. Ugh, this has to be another one of Token's attempts at making me 'more independent,' some other way at trying to make me 'conquer my fears.' I wish he'd stop meddling in our lives so much, because all he's doing is ruining all I've been looking forward to.

"But welike spending Halloween in the guest room," I squeak defensively.

I turn my gaze back to Craig in hopes he'll back me up on this. He looks into the front seat at Token, then back to me. It's obvious just how conflicted he is. I suddenly feel bad for putting him on the spot like that, but he did say we'd do the same thing we do every year.

"I'll still be there," he murmurs quietly as if he doesn't want our friends to hear him trying to console me.

But all I hear is: I'm going to go ahead and take my girlfriend even though I said I'd go with you, but I'll still see you there.

"Ugh! What?..." I mutter in disbelief before depriving his hand of mine. "You're ditching me?"

I'm not trying to be mean and irrational. I'm not trying to be overbearing and over emotional, either, but there's a switch inside my brain and once it's been flipped it's hard to flip it back.

"Ditching you," he mimics, seemingly baffled by how upset I've become. "It's not like that."

I lean against the window and watch the houses pass by, heartbroken inside and too upset to say anything more about it. After a few moments of uncomfortable silence I feel a small tug on my sleeve, but once I realize it's Craig's hand I bat it away in my anguish.

Sensing the building tension, Clyde decides to chime in happily from the passenger seat. "Don't even worry about it, Teacup! Since these two will be busy with chicks, you and I can hang out together! That'd be fun, huh?"

I'm trying hard not to be anything other than upset, 'cause I'm really mad right now. Yet, Clyde's enthusiasm is contagious, and if Craig's so quick to abandon me for Bebe than he can just give himself a blow job tonight.

"Yeah," I squeak far more quietly than I'd hoped I would, then recite a phrase Clyde uses all too often. "Bros before hoes."

In this case, Clyde will be playing the part of my bro.

Craig can be the hoe.

"That's right!" he exclaims. "I'm glad somebody around here gets it!"

I think Token feels bad, because we're almost to my house now and he's yet to say a single word since he upset me. Yet, I'm too flustered by the exchange we just had to speak to him- or anybody else for that matter. Clyde keeps looking back at me and making chatty comments, but suddenly my chest feels too heavy for me to reply. The tension and awkwardness is still hanging heavily in the car when we pull into my driveway. No one is giving jolly goodbyes or see-ya-laters like they usually do when I get dropped off, and Craig's just watching me with unease. I'm starting to feel horribly suffocated, so I scramble out of the car the moment it comes to a stop.

"Tweek, wait," I hear a deep voice call from behind me. I'm already halfway across the yard, though, and I'm stopping for no one. For a short moment I consider locking him out of the house. I don't, because for one I know I wouldn't be able to leave him out there for long and for two I'm pretty sure he's a magic man who can control lock tumblers with his mind.

That doesn't stop me from slamming the door on my way in as I throw my own kind of temper tantrum. I don't know why I was so sure he'd choose me, but the realization that he wants to go with her instead makes my chest tighten and my knees weak. I'd been so looking forward to spending Halloween together, and all it took for him to throw it away was one offhanded mention of his girlfriend. Suddenly I feel my bottom lip begin to quiver with anger, and water threatening to spill over my already wet eyes.

Holy fuck, Tweek, do you even cry when you're mad now?

Surly he's on his way to the front door. The last thing I want is for him to see me crying again today, especially over something like this.

Ugh, God, keep me strong.

I clutch my bag to my side and bolt up the staircase before he or my mom can see me. I don't want to be the childish pussy that always runs away and hides every time he gets upset, but in a situation like this what else can I do? He'd think I was being clingy and over invested if he saw tears in my eyes over a simple change in plans. Ugh. He can't see me this way. I close my bedroom door softly behind me and wipe at my face with the thick sleeves of my sweater.

When you can't stay composed

And everything goes south,

Breathe in through your nose

And out through your mouth.

The front door shuts from the living room, and I listen through my bedroom door for a moment as he moves though the house. The familiar sound of his guitar case falling onto the coffee table resonates through the hall, and soon his boots are thumping against the creaking wood of the staircase. He calls out my name. Tears threaten to work their way out of my eyes again, so I pretend his voice is nothing more than a gust of wind.

In through your nose,

Out through your mouth.

I wish I could just lock him out of my room right now. I could make some lame ass excuse to be alone for a few minutes that way, but locks can't keep out Craig. Hiding from him seems like my best option right now, no matter how pathetic. He's getting closer, and I've still yet to stop crying.

I launch across the room and crawl up under the bed in a desperate attempt at keeping him from seeing me, knocking my head against the bed frame on my way under. I hold my throbbing skull for a second, and then wiggle my way under the metal frame. I never realized there was so much stuff under here. A bunch of dirty old socks greet me immediately, and the further in I crawl the more clothes and old papers I find. I push my way through them until I become too unnerved to continue on. I mean, what if my bed suddenly collapses and I get smashed underneath it? I'd be squished to death! Plus, it's been years since anybody ever thought to clean this place out. For all I know some mold or something could have mutated into an ugly little parasite that's been crawling around under my mattress, laying in wait for years just for me to crawl to my doom.

After a long and twitchy wait, my bedroom door creaks open. His boots are moving across my carpet. I can see their black soles in between the space where my blanket doesn't quite touch the floor. They're worn out and scuffed from years of use, and the rough old things look so out of place against the bright color of my carpet. How those shoes of his are even still holding together, I'll never know.

"Tweek?" He utters loudly as I watch those warn boots move across the room.

The closet door opens.

He's looking through things, so he must know I'm hiding from him now. The stressful game of hide and seek has begun. I listen as the door closes, and again I see his shoes moving across my cream colored carpet.

"I know you're in here," he informs the thin air, well aware I'm somewhere nearby breathing it. I reposition myself so I'm not so squished, my body twisting awkwardly amongst the dirty socks that had been eaten up by my bed over the years. I yelp immediately when my stretching leg knocks into an old box of VHS tapes with a loud bang.

I never was very good at hide and seek.

His shoes stop moving when he stands alert. His killer lizard instincts are kicking in now that he can hear his prey squirming. My God, he can probably smell my fear. They're moving now, those black boots, as they make their way over to my hiding place. I quickly wipe at my wet cheeks to erase all evidence of tears, and feel around for something to hide behind.

He crouches onto his knees.

I feel something hard and plastic under my fingers, so I make a grab for it as he lifts up the blanket and peeks underneath.

"... Tweek? What are you doing down there?" he asks once he's spotted me amongst the discarded clothes and boxes.

"I'm not Tweek! I'm... I'm a sock!" I blurt before taking a handful of the things with my free hand and throwing them in his direction. None of them get very far. "Go away."

He lies down on his side and situates himself so that he can comfortably negotiate my safe return.

"You can't be a sock. You're a table, remember?" he reminds me. I crack the smallest smile at the memory of being sprawled out on Token's counter, but immediately chase it away when I remember I'm supposed to be mad at him right now.

"I-I said go away! Or else!"

"Or else what?" he inquires with a cocked brow.

I point the barrel of a Nerf gun directly at him, although I doubt it's loaded.

"I'm gonna blast you," I announce, exuding feigned confidence while taking aim. I don't have a whole lot of space to work with when I'm squished under the bed like this, but I've got a clear line of sight to that over sized head of his.

"You don't scare me," comes the cocky reply.

In rebellion, I pull the plastic trigger. The chamber revolves before a little foam dart launches from the barrel and bounces off of his blue shirt. Huh, so this thing IS loaded. He makes a face at me as I pull the trigger again, the chamber revolving just as it had before as another foam dart propels forward to his chest.

"Why ya gotta be so heartless?" he asks pitifully as another dart bounces off his arm.

I can't help but let out a loud bout of laughter. "You picked that up from Clyde, didn't you?"

He gives me a gimpy shrug, considering he's laying on one of his shoulders, and then says, "Come out."

"I told you no already," I reply before shooting another dart at his arm.

It seems I'm now out of ammo.

We end up lying on the floor watching one another as the stalemate continues. He's holding up the blankets hanging over the side of the mattress with his arm as his gaze becomes less lighthearted and a little more distant. Some sort of thought process seems to be rolling around in the rusted gears of his brain, and I find myself wishing I really could read his mind.

"What's wrong?" I ask nervously once his sharp stare starts boring a hole into my skull.

"Wrong," he repeats softly before his tongue comes out to prod at his lip rings in thought. He swallows hard, and then utters almost apologetically, "I didn't mean to make you cry."

"Huh?" I blurt in shock. "Whoever said that?"

"You've been my best friend all my life. I know when you've been crying," Craig informs me.

I don't know what to say to that. I was sure he'd think I couldn't handle us being together if he found out I was shedding tears over Halloween, but he doesn't seem the slightest bit upset. What is this, some kind of trap?

"I-I wasn't crying," I lie firmly, although I know he can see right through my strong façade.

Again, everything goes quiet, and I realize we've been plagued by these odd silences recently. It's like the both of us just aren't quite sure what to say or how to word what we do have in mind. Usually I'm the first one to break through the quiet, but it seems this is one of those rare days when Craig puts aside his aloof nature and goes out of his way to initiate conversation.

"We could always do our own thing," he suddenly pipes up. "I mean for Halloween, you know."

"... Our own thing?" I ask meekly, my brow raising a little bit as I perk up with curiosity.

"Yeah," he proposes. "It won't be the same, but at least we'll be alone here."

Spending our own Halloween together does sound really nice. It's almost like... a couple thing, like when my mom and dad go away for Valentines day. Of course he'd still be taking her with us when we go to Token's party, but having someone tag along to a shindig isn't nearly as sweet as coming over to their house and spending the whole night alone with them.

I nod to let him know I like the idea.

He reaches his hand in under the bed for me, almost as a way to test the waters and see if I've forgiven him.

I take it.

Still, I can't shake this weird feeling I have about Token's party.

...

The day has been as it usually is when Craig is here, peaceful, relaxing, and fun. This house doesn't really feel like a home without him, considering I'm usually all alone otherwise. We've been locked in my room for a few hours now. One live concert from Mr. Lizard and a cartoon marathon took up all that time.

He really likes to watch old cartoons with me. I think it's his way of reliving the good old days.

Now, though, he's sitting quietly as I go on and on about whatever comes to mind. This is how conversation usually works for us. I talk, he listens.

This time conversation topic started with Halloween. I like to plan out things like that, so I spent a good thirty minutes talking about what kind of snacks we should get and which movies we should watch. He didn't contribute, just listened quietly as I chatted excitedly with myself. Now, though, the subject seems to have suddenly switched to first times. First times like when Token's dad taught me how to ride a bike, the first time he ever held a guitar, and how stiff his fingers used to be when he tried to play.

"The first time we made out your tongue was all stiff like this," he compares randomly before poking out his forked tongue with all of his might. He pushes it at me like he's trying to probe my nostril or something, which puts me into a startled giggle fit.

I didn't expect him to try to contribute to the conversation in the first place, but how nonchalantly he just mentioned our first make out session is even more mind blowing.

"Stop it, you ass," I laugh out while pushing away his face with my hand. "I couldn't help it if I never kissed anybody before!"

He forces a chuckle out through his nose, which makes him sound like a snorting bull. "So I was your first kiss?" The question doesn't sound like a question at all, but more like an unenthusiastic statement.

"Well... No," I admit with an awkward snicker before bashfully cupping my cheeks in my hands. "Red was my first kiss."

"My cousin?" Craig asks in bewilderment. The look he has on his face is priceless, so I end up giggling like a prepubescent little girl and nodding shyly behind my hands. "When?"

"It was in fourth grade when she used to follow me around. I g-got ambushed under the slide at recess," I reply, my voice slightly muffled as my short little fingers hide the bottom half of my face. "It's 'cause she thought I was her boyfriend."

"Boyfriend?" he asks with an amused snicker.

"Yeah. She used to kidnap me to play house. You used to get SO mad at her, remember?"

He nods against his pillow. "I got in trouble for pushing her down over that."

"Oh yeah!" I laugh. "G-god, you were possessive of your friends."

I notice there's new jewelry in his eyebrow, so I reach out and press my thumb against the metal points protruding from his skin. He always has so much metal in his face. My fingers travel to each piercing, feeling them as if they were all completely new to me.

"No," he disagrees as my finger's tiny tips investigate the jewelry on his face. His voice changes into something softer, quieter as if he's afraid someone might hear. "Just of you."

I pause, my index finger resting on the rings in his lip.

"Is it okay if I ask you something kind of personal?" I ask thoughtfully.

He nods.

"When did you first realize you liked me as-" I stop, my eyes wavering as I re-think what I'm trying to ask. Obviously he doesn't like me as more than a friend, considering that's still all we are. I can't exactly ask when he first realized he had feelings for me, either, considering I'm still not quite sure what he feels. "Um... H-how long have youlike liked me?"

Again a silence befalls my tiny bedroom, and Craig shifts a bit uncomfortably. He doesn't want to answer. I can tell by the way he's clenching his jaw, but I don't know if his hesitance is a good or bad thing. He lets out a long breath that makes it sound like he's deflating. A hollow and almost shameful reply follows in the form of a quiet whisper that ghosts over the tip of my finger.

"Always."

I lock eyes with him as my chest swells with so many bubbles I think I'm about to bust at the seams. That is definitely not what I was expecting to hear, and trying to fully register that one word puts my brain on the verge of exploding with delight. Craig has always felt for me? That means he must have been harboring the same bubbly feelings I have since he was small, and from my experience nobody has bubbly feelings that long over someone they're just inlike with.

He's staring off into space, making it feel like he's thousands of miles away even though he's lying right in front of me. I rest my head closer to his on his pillow, and then hesitantly allow my hand to stroke his stubbly jaw line. My lungs swell up with a horribly heavy feeling as I decide to snap him out of his trance with a peck.

I'm never completely sure how Craig will react to loving gestures. Sometimes he lets out a soft hum of approval when my kisses fall onto him, then he presses back against my mouth. Those are the good times; when he accepts my affection and offers it back. There are other times, though, that aren't so good. Those are when he'll quickly turn his head so that my lips land on his cheek instead of his mouth, or he'll use those big hands I love so much to push me away like I'm some filthy animal. It's scary, and sometimes humiliating, to put myself in that vulnerable position. It's just too much freaking pressure, I swear, and sometimes I think the pain of rejection is too much to risk.

But then I remember how it feels when he holds me.

He watches emotionlessly as I scoot even closer to him.

The afternoon sunbeams peeking in from behind my closed blinds gives his bold but familiar features the gentlest glow as the speckles of light adorn his face. His eyes look so blue and bright, illuminated by the light seeping into my bedroom. I don't care what anyone has to say about it; Craig is absolutely gorgeous. Everything around us suddenly feels so light and airy despite the fear pinching at my chest. Our noses bump together before I timidly brush my lips against his. A moment of unnerving quiet passes, and then a contented hum works its way out of him.

This is a good time.

It isn't long before I'm wrapped up in his embrace and tucked safely against his warm body. I live for the sweet moments we share in this bedroom, because while we're huddled up in this tiny sanctuary nothing hurts. There are no wandering eyes of close friends to hide from in shame, no pretty blond girl to suffocate me with feelings of sorrow and regret, and no reason left to cry.

I scoot as close as I can before slipping my arm around his thick neck. The gentle touch of the giant's hand brushes my cheek. It caresses me tenderly, giving my whole body trembles at the affectionate gesture.

"We're alone," he points out through the rasp in his voice. He doesn't say anything else because he knows he doesn't need to. That look he has is more than enough to let me know what he's longing for.

"It's okay to say no," comes the steady reassurance. Secretly, that one phrase somehow bumps up my comfort level. I repeat it to myself a few times in my mind as not to forget.

"Psh, stop t-treating me like a little kid," I reply softly. "I'm ready for anything."

Craig looks at me skeptically, but my determined expression does not waver. He pulls his hefty body away to sit up on the bed, his broad shoulders leaning back against the wooden headboard for support.

"Come here then," he breathes out lowly, one oversized hand extended for me to take. I instinctively gulp when I feel a building tension inside my throat, but I still reach out to slip my hand in his. I crawl over on my knees with my gaze still mesmerized by the icy blue color of his eyes. They're heavy and heated, just like every time he's found himself tangled up in my bed sheets before. When he looks at me that way my whole body heats up.

I'm thankful for it; that look in his eyes.

I'm fascinated when a little sound escapes from his slightly parted lips, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment as his breath becomes uneven and labored. His palm presses down on the hardening bulge in the front of his jeans, another faint little noise coming up out of the bottom of his throat as he plays with himself. His fingers squeeze, press, and rub his arousal through the rising thick denim, and he drags his teeth absentmindedly over his bottom lip.

My fingers brush softly over the top of his moving hand before pulling at the button keeping his jeans fastened together. With a pop the fabric opens, and his hand stills as I pull the zipper down. Our eyes lock for a moment before my invading fingers retreat so that he can continue putting on his show. Instead, he watches my every twitch with curiosity.

"You wanna watch?" he questions mischievously as a dirty, cockeyed grin pulls at his mouth.

My lips press together as I steal another glance at the sliver of exposed boxers peeking out from the heavy blue fabric. I'm sure my face is as red as a tomato by now, especially since I can't seem to stop gawking at the tent in his pants. My eyes tear back to his face, but all I can manage is a stiff nod. His grin remains on his features, no matter how faint, before he slips his hand into the loose fabric. I watch with a growing desire as he frees his cock from the cloth, his tight fist slowly pumping around hard muscle. Again, his eyes flutter closed as his head lulls back against the headboard. He silently soaks up all the pleasurable sensations as he quickens the pace a bit, jerking his hand with jarring, quick movement before rubbing his thumb over the smooth tip.

His mouth barely parts to suck in some air as he squeezes himself between his fingers. Those thin, pierced lips are the epitome of beauty, and I can't resist the urge to lean forward and return them to my own. He lets out a heavy breath through his nostrils when my mouth finds his, then presses back. My heart swells up with bliss as I feel his skin against me; the juddering of his shoulders as he keeps up his pace.

After my spontaneous kissing fit, his free hand reaches out to take a hold of mine, and then guides it from his broad chest to his arousal. My fingers twitch at first when I feel the hardness and heat on my palm. He wraps my hand around it, and leads it up and down the firm shaft. We stay like this for a few moments, my eyes locked onto his twisting face as I squeeze and feel him in my fist.

"Ah, stop," he grumbles, despite his hips jutting up for more when I let go.

He gets on his knees, and I let out a yelp when he grabs me from under my arms and drags me across the mattress. He doesn't let me go until I'm struggling to stay on, his pants sagging even lower as he stands tall beside the bed. His fist is still tangled in my wild hair, making me hunch under the weight of it.

He strokes himself.

"Suck it."

His grip loosens when I wrap my hands around him a little too eagerly. Fighting my wobbly knees to keep balance, I take him between my wetted lips. He hums although I'm clumsy, sounds of sucking and choking bouncing off the walls when he gets up the nerve to try to shove his cock down my throat. I don't fight it, just stay still and try to take it as he fists my hair in his hands and jolts into my mouth.

He doesn't stop until I gag and cough around his cock. Still, I leave my mouth gaping open for him, globs of saliva running down my chin.

His eyes are heated as he looks down at me with that god-awful smirk. He's biting his lip; his shoulder shakes as his hand picks up where the back of my throat left off.

His muscles tense and he clenches his jaw. A gasp and a grunt works its way out of him before he gnaws hard on his lip, shuttering and shaking while he squirts his salty flavor into my mouth and onto my face. Thank God my eyes were squeezed closed, 'cause I can feel his warm mess on my eyelid.

I close my mouth, his come mixing with my saliva as I fight the urge to spit the unsavory mess onto my bed sheets. I force most of it down my throat, but the rest ends up dripping down my chin.

He won't let me wipe it off. Instead, he grabs me by the hips and jerks me until my bottom half is only being held up by his hands. I whimper and wiggle when he deprives me of my pants.

My face is red. I want to hide my embarrassment in my hands, but my face is still covered in his mess.

His fingers gently press between my knees. I jerk and shake, but let him spread my legs open. His callous hands slide downward, brushing my thighs before he dips his head down. His tongue slides over the most sensitive parts of me. I gasp quietly under the wet touch, writhing and whining when it works its way into me.

"W-what are you doing?" I breathe, my eyes still closed in fear of being blinded by the come still slathered on my right eye.

It takes him a moment to answer, seeing as how he's more interested in tasting me.

"Do you like it?"

I nod, and finally decide to toss my arm over my eyes, no longer caring if I ruin my sweater sleeve.

His touching stops. I can hear him moving under the sound of my own labored breath. A quiet rustling. I peek only long enough to catch a glimpse of his cock and the rubber he's rolling over it.

My lower belly tightens like a hot coil. My breath only gets heavier.

I'm waiting to feel his hands on me again, but I'm not at all prepared when his rough grip yet again yanks my ass off the bed. A strangled sound bubbles out of my throat. I can feel him pressing flush between my spread legs, hard, wet, and invitingly warm. All I can manage are quiet whimpers and the impatient twisting of my hips. I've never had anything inside me before, except the couple times I used my own fingers thinking of him.

I roll against him longingly, groaning when he matches my desperate rocking with his own thrusts.

"Stop teasing," I plead.

With a small, quiet chuckle, he obliges.

"Ah! O-oh, God," I choke.

When it first pushes in, all I can feel is a hot burning between my legs. I try to back away enough for him to fall out, but he's gripping my hips so tightly that I'm pinned down onto the bed.

As I bite back my tears, we remain in unmoving silence.

"It burns," my trembling voice complains quietly. "I… think I have to use the bathroom…"

I feel his nose nestle into my hair.

"Shh," he urges quietly, his voice a lot softer than the fingers digging into my skin. "It'll be okay…"

I decide to believe him, grinding my teeth through the pain when he slowly rocks into me. I can feel him pushing deeper and deeper, my only saving grace being the lube on his condom. He stops. I almost sigh in relief.

"Feel better?"

I sigh.

"A little…"

He hooks his hands behind the backs of my knees, opening me wider until he's sunk so deep inside that I can feel his T-shirt brush against my stomach. I let out a small cry.

"It's okay," he repeats himself. I can feel him shutter with pleasure when I squeeze him tight and twist in his grip. "That's it. It's all in you."

I whimper, my hands trailing down to grab at his clothes as I stare up at his face.

Slowly, he pulls back, only to rock back forth. My bed creaks and my breath catches in my throat when he does it over and over again, filling me up to the very brim as he closes his eyes and indulges in the heat of my body.

The roll of his hips and the uneven breath on his lips is all evidence of the affection I've been yearning for.

He loves me.

...

"Stop wiggling," Craig complains wearily as he clamps his arms around my naked form to keep me still. We've been just laying here for about a half an hour as he's been drifting in and out of sleep. Our bodies are tangled tightly together, my head in the crook of his neck and his arms locked tightly around me. My body is still rattled and sore from Craig's frenzied thrusting.

It sort of hurts if I sit up the wrong way.

"But the closet is still unlocked!" I reason in fear. "What if something gets out?"

"You're as bad as Clyde," he mutters lazily under his breath. "I'm on the outside of the bed. If anything gets out it'll have to get through me first."

I believe him. If anything tries to hurt me he'll be here to keep me safe, but for God's sake the damn closet is still unlocked. What if there's a ghost hiding in there and it gets out into my bedroom when he's sleeping, or a serial killer's been hiding inside just waiting for us to fall asleep so he can decorate my walls with our entrails? What if they have weapons, like a knife or a gun? Craig is a really big, strong guy, but all it would take is a well-aimed bullet and he'd be taken away from me forever.

Gah! Why is he not worried about being murdered?

He notices how badly I'm trembling against his chest. I can tell by the way he's rubbing my back. I respond to the touch with a strangled sound of displeasure.

This is when a soft tune starts to fill the empty space between us.

"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine."

It takes a moment for me to realize the soothing melody is coming from Craig. It's so raspy and tired sounding, the lullaby fading in and out as he battles the urge to sleep.

"You make me happy when skies are grey. You'll never know, dear, how much I love you. Please don't take my sunshine away." It's rough and coarse sounding, but his vocal cords surely aren't trained to be used for such affectionate and softly chirped notes. My heart wells up with all those butterfly bubbly feelings as the lovely lyrics roll over my overworked mind. I can tell how sweet he's trying to make it sound, and it is.

Sweeter than I'd ever heard, at least.

And then there's that word.

Love.

"The other night, dear, as I lay sleeping, I dreamt I held you in my arms..." His voice grows quieter and quieter as he struggles to sing me into relaxation, and my heart swells larger and larger as the lyrics grace my restless mind with ease. "When I awoke, dear, I was mistaken, so I hung my head and cried."

It seems he's having trouble keeping his eyes open. They fall closed sleepily before he forces himself to keep awake, determined to finish his song before sleep overtakes him.

"... You'll never know, dear... how much I love you... please don't take my sunshine away." Finally, he fades into silence, seemingly having lulled himself to sleep with his own quietly whispered tune.

I settle in comfortably between him and the wall. His voice is still ringing in my ears despite his silence. Every note and minor inflection has been imbedded in my mind on a mental cassette tape, rewinding and replaying over and over until the muscles in my tense body relax. The glorious light that once shown in through my closed blinds has dimmed and faded with the setting sun. Everything is tinted a lovely shade of blue as dusk dies and breathes life into the night.

Everything is still. Everything is quiet. All except for the rise and fall of Craig's ribs, and the endless loop of his lullaby.

...

Shivers crawl up my spine as the cool air of my room chills my bare back. I reach down to pull the covers back up over my naked body, then move to cuddle up to Craig and absorb some of his warmth. My brow pinches together when I'm met with only bed sheets. After a moment of confusion, I sit up and look around the bedroom.

His side of the bed is empty, and I'm alone.

"Craig?" I call out before rolling off the edge of the bed. His jacket was left in a heap on the floor, so I slip into it to hide my nakedness before stumbling out into the hall. It's dark, frightfully dark, as I nervously navigate through the narrow corridor. I use my iPhone's screen as a flashlight, softly illuminating the hallway to soothe my terrible fear of the blackness. As always, quiet tiptoeing is required as I pass the master bedroom to make sure not to wake up my parents.

When I creep down the stairs I see the faint glow of my mother's favorite lamp. It's resting on the side table beside the big green couch, casting light onto my lover so that he can see as he ties his boots. A step groans softly under my bare foot. He looks up at me with a jolt of shock. Those ice blue eyes scan my form in the darkness as if to make sure he isn't staring at a ghost.

"Craig?" I mutter pitifully as I step down onto the carpet, into the light. "What're you doing?"

He frowns at me for a moment, then looks back down to his boot before pulling his laces taut. "I gotta go."

"... What?" I sit down on the couch as he brings up the next boot to be tied. I pull the hem of his jacket down to cover my privates as I settle in beside him. "Weren't you going to say goodbye?"

"I didn't want to wake you," he admits honestly while working with the laces pinched between his fingers. "Besides, I have to get going."

"B-but it's cold out there tonight," I reason softly while reaching out and touching his arm. "Come back to bed."

"I've already stayed too long," he replies under his breath while fixing the hood of his shirt.

"Please," I whimper to try and change his mind. My body convulses slightly when one of his big hands finds my bare leg. My saddened whimper becomes a pleasured hum.

"I'll be over this weekend," he promises. A frown finds its way on my face when he stands up from the couch, his knees popping as he stretches. My heart grows heavy as he makes his way for my front door.

Don't go. Please, stay here with me.

"Wait!" I demand. He stops with his hand on the door handle and turns back in question.

The wheels of a foot stool let out a groaning noise against the carpet as I pull it over to him. Craig just stands there, looking down at me with utter confusion as I position it in front of him and begin to climb up on it. When I stand up straight I realize I'm just a few inches away from my goal, so both of my hands reach up and grab onto the collar of his blue shirt.

"Get down here," I order firmly, my voice cracking a bit as I pull down on the cloth with all my strength.

His face is blank as he gives in, his neck craning down. A loud click comes from within his mouth, the sound of his piercings banging against his teeth as my lips come crashing onto his. It's a goodbye kiss, just like the kind she gave him when they exchanged farewells at school today.

I want to give him farewell kisses, too.

We stand here for a few moments with the front of his shirt clutched in my fists and our mouths pressed roughly together.

Once his shock wears away I nervously allow our lips to part.

"What was that?" I'm still so close to him that I can feel his warm breath on my face. I can't really see his expression, but much to my surprise the usual monotone in his voice seems to be wavering.

"I-it was... Ugh, it's a new rule," I mutter softly, still only centimeters away from our lips brushing again.

"Rule," Craig mimics. I don't think he knows what to make of this.

"Yeah. You have all kinds of rules for me, so I should be able to have some for you. I mean, I only have one..." I reason quietly.

"I never made any rules," he argues, his eyebrows scrunching together in confusion.

I pull away from him to nervously recite the list of demands I've been storing in my memory. I absentmindedly count on my fingers as I do so. "I can't tell anyone, because it's just between us. I can't ask about your relationship, because it's none of my business. I can't talk to her unless you're there, because I might break the first rule. I can't be alone with her, -gah- cause of the same reason. I can't use your cell phone anymore, 'cause-"

Before I begin on the second hand he reaches out and grabs it, not wanting to hear anymore of the things I've been living by. I jerk when he encases my hand in his and immediately gaze up at him. With the assistance of my stool I'm on the same level as Craig, but it's hard to be face to face with him when he won't look me in the eyes.

"Fine," he sighs, his head tilting to the side as if it's suddenly become too heavy for him to hold up. "That's fair."

I smile faintly, and my chest swells at the realization that he's willing to negotiate to keep me. Just how far he's willing to go is what's scaring me. My arms hesitantly slip back around his neck. He stands still as I whisper softly in the shell of his ear.

"When you're at my house, you're mine, okay?"

The room falls completely silent, so my body tenses up against him.

"What do you mean?" He asks.

"I mean that...," my cheeks tint pink, so I burrow my face anxiously into the nape of his neck before continuing. "When you're over we could do more couple stuff. Like, we can hug and kiss more... and maybe we could call each other sweet things... the way you do with her sometimes."

I can feel his Adam's apple bob against my cheek.

"Tweek..." He finally begins, his voice slow and cautious.

I close my eyes tightly together to prepare myself for whatever he's about to say, my hands shaking as I clutch onto him.

"You know we can't," he mutters through a stiffened jaw, but he doesn't sound angry or frustrated like I was afraid he would.

"But... Why?" I whimper, pushing my luck more than I'm comfortable with. "You'd still be with her, and I'll still only touch you when we're alone. Nothing would change at all, just that we'd be sweeter to each other when you're here."

His arms finally fold around me. Every movement he makes is careful and gingerly. There's something he wants to tell me, but it won't come out. It's frustrating that he still can't talk about something as simple as the way he feels.

"I'm sorry," he utters under his breath.


	8. The Dove and the Crow

Snow drifted down onto the closed window. The puffy white flakes covered the world outside with a bitterly cold white blanket as my best friend and I laid silent in the warmth of his bedroom. Well, he was laying silent, anyway. I was sitting bedside, shaking like a frightened baby rabbit.

He was tucked carefully underneath his RedRacer comforter while struggling to breathe through his mouth. The skin on his face that was usually so full of color was nothing short of white, aside from how dark his bags had gotten and how red his agitated little nose had been. It just didn't seem right for him to be laying there so helpless. He was so frail and fragile looking, nothing at all like the rough-and-tumble boy I'd grown so attached to. A look of worry came onto my round face when he let out a sickly cough. His nose was dribbling and his eyes were watering as he suffered at the hands of the flu. It had been a few days since he was first stricken with the illness, but he didn't seem to be getting much better. I leaned forward and pressed my hands carefully against his forehead every time he let out a hack, just like his mother did to check his temperature, as if it would somehow alleviate his pain.

"Are you okay?" I asked weakly, both hands still pressed against the hot skin on his face.

He didn't say anything for a really long time. His pale cheeks and sunken eyes made it obvious he was far too ill to be speaking anyway, but after a while he did utter one small sorrow.

"I miss space."

I frowned at that, because the both of us shared the same pain. Our vast universe was waiting on the playground just three blocks away, but how could a spaceman get to the stars if he's too sick to even get to his ship?

That was a dilemma I became determined to solve.

"D-don't worry, Craig, I'll find some way to get us home," I promised uneasily. I sat beside him for a long while, listening to the sounds that accompanied the rise and fall of his ribs as my imagination went wild. We could have turned his house into a spaceship. We wouldn't have had to move him from bed that way, but I couldn't have found all the parts I would've needed to make a house fly. I wouldn't have known how to put it all together even if I did. Maybe it would have been easier to turn his bed into a rocket. I wouldn't have needed as much stuff then... but I don't know how I would have gotten it to space without blowing a hole in his ceiling.

A monkey wrench was thrown into the rotating gears of my mind when the voice of a woman called out my name from behind me. I jumped, and then jerked around in fright to see who the murmur belonged to.

Mrs. Tucker stood behind the crack in his doorway. Her pretty blue eyes looked down at me with the kind of worry one would expect from a mother, the caring maternal kind.

"You ought to leave Craig be for a while, hun. We don't need the both of you getting sick," she said while pushing the door open for me. I remember her body being wrapped snug in a cushy bathrobe, although she hadn't showered, looking comfortable and relaxed as I'd always known her to be.

"But what if he gets worse?" I reasoned from beside his bed, my fingers by then wrapped in his weak grip. We couldn't just leave him alone. There had to be somebody there to make sure he was getting better.

"He'll be just fine," she promised with a reassuring smile. "Come and watch T.V. for a while, then we'll come back up to check on him."

I pouted in protest, but she eventually coaxed me out to join the family in a mind-numbing session of television. I didn't watch it, though. All of my energy was spent on trying to figure out how I was going to bring Craig to outer space.

The answer came to me late that night as I was rummaging through all the old toys I never played with. I was trying to find things that could be used to make a bed fly, like wings or something that could pass for a steering wheel. Instead, I found something much smaller, but far more likely to make Craig feel like he was really back home amongst the stars again.

The next day, I returned to the Tuckers' house after school. Two precious bags were tucked away inside my backpack and a smile was on my face when I walked in through the front door.

Craig may have still been sick, but at least he was going to be happy.

"Tweek?" Mrs. Tucker asked when she saw me standing awkwardly behind her spot on the couch. That grouchy husband of hers was leaned back in the big green recliner beside her. He was silent and groggy looking, as always, while he flipped through the T.V. guide with squinted eyes.

I never cared much for that man.

I've always had a hunch the feeling is mutual.

"I didn't expect you so soon," she added lightly.

"Oh!" I shouted in apology. "I have something for C-Craig, so I came over right after school..."

She smiled at me.

"What is it?"

I fumbled through my backpack, and my hand soon emerged with two baggies I had tucked away the night before.

"Well... Craig wants to go to space! Um, I was going to turn his bed into a rocket ship, but I couldn't find a steering wheel so I was looking in my closet and found thi-these instead... Then I thought, m-maybe since I can't bring him to space, I can bring space to him," I explained as I shakily held out the gifts for her to see.

"Aw, you are just the sweetest thing," she cooed before getting up off the couch and plucking one of them out of my grasp.

The large man occupying the recliner glanced back at us for a moment before returning to his television with a huff. The remote let out a __click__ , __click__ , __click__ , as he scrolled mindlessly through show titles.

"I think he'd love this, but you're a bit tiny to reach on your own." She rolled the clear bag around in her hand, eying the small universe contained inside as she spoke.

" _ _GAH__! I-I know!" I agreed bashfully. "You're... really tall though! Can you help me?"

"Well, of course," she agreed. "Just be quiet while we're in there. You don't want him to wake up."

"Ugh! Because he's still sick?"

"Well, yes, but also because it'll be a surprise that way. So while we're setting up-" she put a long, slender finger to her lips and let out a __shhh__.

"Oh! I get it!" I rejoiced before mimicking the gesture, letting out a shush of my own.

After destroying the kitchen on a quest for Sticky Tack, the two of us made our way up the stairs. I tried my best to be quiet when we slipped in through the crack in his door, but it was dark in there. I let out a small sound of displeasure when I realized a thick blanket was hanging over his window. Mrs. Tucker patted me on the shoulder in reassurance, and then set one of the plastic bags in my shaking hands. Without a word, we began to set Craig's walls aglow with the same bright lights we used to guide our way through the blackness of deep space.

It wasn't long before I was gently shaking him, pushing at his shoulder to show him what I'd done for him. He let out a small groan, and his comforter rose and fell over his stretching limbs. His tired eyes cracked open to look at me. Even in sickness, they were a brilliant show of light blue peeking out from behind his heavy eyelids.

"Tweek?" he asked in curiosity, his head turning in the fluff of his pillow to gaze at his walls in wonder.

Stars.

There were lovely, glowing stars scattered all about his bedroom. They shined just like the speckles in the sky we were always trying so desperately to get to, and I'd never felt so close to reaching out and really feeling one in my hands.

"Where are we?" he asked in groggy confusion.

"We're h-home, Craig! Just like I promised, remember?" I was absolutely beaming with pride, impressed with myself and how clever I thought I was.

The glow-in-the-dark chips of star-shaped plastic were also scattered about his bed, and he picked one up off his blanket before flipping it over in his hands. He didn't say a word while taking in the little piece of the universe I captured for him.

"You did all this for me?" He asked with his stuffy, nasally voice. I didn't understand why he sounded so baffled. Of course I did.

"Y-yeah... and now we can play in space again!... I-isn't that what you wanted?"

A smile found its way onto his sickly features, his curious gaze eying the shining little star in the palm of his hand.

"Let's go to the moon this time," he suggested. His hands fell limp onto his chest, the star being gripped lightly between his fingers as his eyes fell closed. "I want to see if my foot is as big as Neil Armstrong's."

****...** **

After Craig left I laid down and tried to sleep, but the smell of his sweat lingered too thickly between the sheets; the sheets on his side of my bed. My bottom was still aching from how hard he'd been slamming into me, and his familiar scent only left me wallowing in the memory of what it felt like to have him moving inside. The undeniable closeness that made my heart pound, and the heartbreaking rejection that left my spirit broken both swirled around my head until I was sure I was about to bust out of my seams again.

My heart was broken, torn to shreds and violently pounded into the floor by the soles of his warn out old boots. All I wanted was to be a little closer, feel a little warmer. Instead I was left feeling horribly alone and abandoned. Cold. Empty. I couldn't understand why he would get up out of bed in the middle of the night and try to sneak off without me knowing, especially after what we'd just done.

I nearly smashed my head again in the process of trying to convince myself that he didn't leave me to go be with her.

I hoped he hadn't left me to be with her...

Then again, I was done hoping.

I was done wishing, begging, waiting, and crying. In that moment, laying naked, dirtied, and pitiful in what was left of his fading warmth, I realized that Craig was never going to give in to my affections himself. If I really want him, I'm going to have to take matters into my own hands. There had to be some way to change his mind. There had to be something I could do to prove we can last together out in the open, and that I can love him in ways she'd never even known of.

I was too afraid, though. I was too afraid of really putting my heart into something just to wind up being hurt again.

That's when I spotted the colorful spine of a paperback poking out the open flap of my messenger bag.

It was Kenny's origami book, the same one he let me borrow with the promise that if I practiced every day I would get better. I keep looking back at the unexpected support I'd received from someone who might as well have been a stranger, and the piles of paper birds I've covered my dresser with this morning are proof enough of how greatly it effected me.

Just because I didn't succeed the first time doesn't mean I'll never succeed at all. I proved that to myself the first time I finished a bird without using the instructions.

After a few hours of thought and planning, I decided that If I'm going to win Craig over I'm going to have to start speaking a language he can understand.

That thought is what prompted me to create what I have laying before me now. My barely legible chicken scratch is littering a full piece of lined paper. It's sloppy and covered in eraser marks, but this is just the draft. It'll look a lot nicer if I get the chance to copy it onto a clean sheet of paper. That won't fix my atrocious skills, but it's a step in the right direction. I'm actually pretty sure every word I've written down is a mockery of the English language. It's choppy at best, and if I just found it laying around I'd think a kindergartener wrote it. Still, I tried my hardest.

It's also given me a good reason to avoid my mom all morning. I still haven't gained the courage to tell her Stan broke the cup she got me with love, and I've been doing everything I can to stay as far away from her and my dad as possible.

I don't think they've noticed.

The loud sound of a car horn blares from outside my window, scaring me out of my wits and breaking whatever concentration I had. Token's here already? It's not even seven thirty yet! I throw my things together before my friends get frustrated with waiting on me.

Ugh! I haven't even gotten to put my poem on a clean sheet of paper!

I carefully slip the messy page into the sleeve of one of my class folders, and then bolt out of my room. My messenger bag nearly throws me off balance as I run down the staircase, but I grab a hold of the railing to keep myself from tumbling down. As quickly as I can go without breaking my neck, I finally reach the bottom and scramble for the front door. Hopefully they weren't waiting very long.

When I push my front door open and look into the driveway, I'm baffled to see Token's car isn't there. Instead, a beat up red truck is idling atop the cement. Puffs of light, wispy smoke rise up from the tailpipe as it rumbles like an angry animal. The dark windows are rolled up, but I can still make out the shadowy form of a person peering at me through the tinted glass.

Water drops plop down on top of my head from the darkening sky, and a nervous sigh works it's way out of me. I'll almost be happy when it gets cold enough to snow. Maybe then all this rain will stop.

Hesitantly, I make my way to the growling red beast. The door handle is rusted and cold under my fingers, but I still pull it open and slip inside to shield myself from the light rain shower. My bag falls to the floor between my knees when I loosen my grip, and then I nervously scan the interior of the little truck to keep my eyes from locking with the man in the driver's seat. Little shivers run up my spine when I feel two ice blue eyes watching my every movement. It feels almost like someone pressed a cold can of pop against the back of my neck, but the uncomfortable chill never fades away.

There's a gut wrenching silence building tension between us. I hadn't spoken with him since I practically begged him not to leave me last night, and I'm still embarrassed about the whole thing.

Plus, those lovely blue orbs would only bring me back to the moment his thick, hard shaft sank deep inside, the warm little bursts of ecstasy I felt in my chest every time he'd let out a pleasured moan, and the way my core melted when I realized he was spilling over inside me.

Holy shit, Tweek, don't get a boner, that won't help make this situation any less awkward. Who even thinks about such dirty things at a time like this?

He lets out a sigh while we sit stiffly in each other's company. It's a thick, heavy one that makes me worry I'm in trouble. He doesn't say anything, though. Just like me, he's leaning limply against the seat behind him. This is when the overwhelming smell of his detergent gets caught in my nose. It smells really clean, like freshly washed linen hanging from the line in the crisp air of spring. The smell is refreshing, especially in the gloomy musk of a fall morning.

It makes me want to hold him again; the way I got to last night when we were laying naked under my comforter.

I gulp down all the fear in my throat, and then finger the paper poking out from under the red cover of my math folder. After a long moment of consideration, I carefully pull it out and lay it face down on my lap.

"Where's Token and Clyde?" I ask curiously while picking at the crumpled edges of the white sheet before me.

"They left early to study," Craig informs me blankly. Little water droplets thump against the roof of his truck as it idles in my driveway, and we're both sitting so awkwardly.

Everything feels different now.

"Clyde hasn't really been doing very well, h-has he?" I blurt the burning question that's been tormenting me. Clyde's been almost as big of a mystery as that almost-healed bite mark Craig's been sporting on his arm, and not knowing about either has been driving me insane.

"No," Craig admits quietly. "He hasn't."

"Is he sick?"

"... You could say that," he answers weakly. I convulse in my seat when his glossy gaze falls upon me, tugging nervously at the buttons on my shirt and sputtering quietly. He still has that look in his eyes, the same watery one he had right before he left me last night. It's weird, concerning, almost. Like he's trying so hard to keep something bottled in, even though I can see these small glimpses of it bubbling up to the surface.

Craig decides to steer the subject into a completely different direction.

"What's that?" he asks flatly. Cold eyes lock onto the white rectangle in my lap, and I squirm uncomfortably in his passenger seat.

"It's um... Nothing! Homework! Yeah, that's what it is, homework!" I blurt after sandwiching the poem between my chest and my math folder.

Wow, Tweek. Smooth.

"Homework," he mimics before tilting his head to the side like a confused puppy. Just now do I realize how tired he looks. Tired and warn, like the only sleep he'd gotten was the couple hours he slept at my house. I frown at the sight, then slide my finger under the paper.

That exhausted look doesn't fit him.

"Um... Okay, it's not homework," I confess as I peek at the sheet of notebook paper squished against my shirt.

"Can I see?"

My cheeks flush lightly, but I still timidly offer it to him with a trembling hand. He takes it gingerly, like he's afraid moving too fast would give me a heart attack. I want to avoid looking at him when his eyes begin to scan the page, but I can't. That sharp gaze sweeps over every word with the utmost curiosity, but halfway through he seems to get snagged. He blinks a couple times, his face stiffening.

"...What is this?"

"Um..." I begin timidly, rubbing my forearms in nervousness and looking everywhere but in his direction. "You always write lyrics and stuff for other people, and... I don't know, I guess I thought I'd make one for you.."

"So... you wrote me a song?" He asks in what I can only describe as disbelief.

I nod my head timidly before muttering, "I'm sorry it's bad. I was gonna write it again on clean paper so it'd be all neat and... Yeah..."

Large pupils flicker and sway as he skims over my horrid chicken scratch a few more times. I'm taken back completely when his brow raises and his Adam's apple bobs, like his heart's stuck in his throat and he's trying to work it back down into his chest. His lips just barely part, and he slowly recites a small excerpt from the page before him.

"Do you recall when we were small? The planets, the stars, we ruled them all.

With fists held high and battle cries, you and I learned how to fly.

"That isn't bad. That's beautiful."

My cheeks flush deeply, and I pull nervously at the green cloth wrapped around my chest. Beautiful, my poem is beautiful.

"You know," he says defeatedly, his fingers running over my scribbled words as if they'd just flicked a light on in his head, "I wouldn't have left you last night if I didn't have to."

This sudden change of topic makes my insides feel like they were just ran over by a mack truck. I look up at him with wide eyes, my chest swelling just as it always does when Craig's playing my heart strings. Is it just me, or is the air in the small space between us getting clearer? It's like there was a dense fog keeping him just out of my view for all of this time, and it's just now beginning to fade into clarity.

"What?" I choke out.

"... They needed me at home last night," he answers candidly, apologetically. "If it wasn't for that I would've stayed with you..."

I look away from him for a moment to try and hide the relieved look on my face. So he left because of his family.

It had nothing to do with her.

Part of me wants to ask what was so bad that they needed him in the middle of the night for, but the rest of me is buzzing at the idea that Craig didn't want to leave my side. He didn't just fuck me and run like I feared. He left me because he had to, not because he wanted to. Still, I just can't get our last heartbreaking moments together out of my head. It was painfully obvious that he wanted nothing more to do with me, blatantly refusing to smudge the rules even a little bit because he didn't want to be any closer with me.

I have one thousand things I could say cluttering my head, but all I can manage is a startled sounding, "Oh..."

He clears his throat, and I follow suit before tucking a piece of hair behind my ear.

"Do you think... It'd be okay if I asked you s-something kinda personal?" I ask timidly, quietly. "I mean, I don't think it breaks any rules."

He looks over at me with an expression that catches me off guard. It looks almost... sad, the odd and painful look in his eyes not at all fading as his line of sight remains locked into place. Still, he nods stiffly.

I power through my insecurities to force myself out in the conversation, to get some answers I've been needing and to quit seeming like such a puppet.

"Last night right before you left... I asked if we could do like... sweet couple things together. W-w... Why did you say no?" I ask, the hurt in my voice far more obvious than I was hoping for it to be.

He lets out a deep breath and shakes his head.

"... I was just... I didn't know, Teacup," he admits, voice low and steady as he picks at the grooves in his steering wheel.

A shiver crawls up my spine, my dysfunctional heart thumping hard as I shift my line of sight to out of his window. Did he just call me Teacup? Craig __has never__ called me Teacup. _ _ever__.

I sputter and twitch, my usual jitteryness getting the best of me.

"First you said we can't call each other sweet things, and then you go and call me Teacup," I blurt, my shaking hands rubbing my acne-ridden upper arms through the thick fabric of my sweater. "Teacup is a sweet thing! Don't say it if you don't want me to say them back."

"Okay, sweetie."

" _ _GAH__! What?! Sweetie?! You're being so confusing! Do you want us to say sweet things or not?!"

"It's asking too much of me to decide, sweetheart."

I let out a noise that I'm sure isn't human, a high pitched yelp that I can't believe came out of my throat.

"Gah! W-what? Craig!"

"What is it, baby?"

" _ _S-stop it__!" My cheeks grow red and I cover my ears as I cower in his passenger seat. "Don't say them if I can't!"

Something takes a hold of my wrist, carefully, softly, before pulling it away from my face. A finger hooks under my chin, and I gulp hard when Craig makes me look at him. A series of sounds reverberate from somewhere deep inside his throat. They come together to form a question I'd not been expecting to hear.

He murmurs, "What's stopping you, Sunshine?"

I tilt my head in his fingers, the rough pads sliding over the skin on my face while my eyes grow wide in disbelief.

Sunshine.

Like in his lullaby.

"W-what?..." I ask in surprise. "B-but I... But you said-"

"Stop reciting the stupid things I say," he interrupts me with a cocked brow. "They're your lips, do anything you want with them."

After a moment of contemplation, I take his advice. Scrunching up my face and surging forward, I smash my mouth against his. He tenses up, and gives me a startled look when I finally pull away.

I just kissed him.

In my driveway.

Sure, were in his truck and the windows are sort of tinted, but anybody standing on the sidewalk could have seen it happen.

The thought makes me grin stupidly.

"Getting risky, aren't we?" He asks a bit nervously with his gaze scanning the rainy street in front of us.

"What? N-nobody's around," I sputter argumentatively. "A-and... they're my lips... So I can kiss you and call you sweet things whenever I want to."

"Sweet things," he mimics monotonously.

And just like that, Craig's reverted back to being a robot parrot.

He shakes his head as he stares a little longer at the poem in his hands. That little paper is holding all my love in the form of phrases and rhymes. Song lyrics, the only language Craig is truly fluent in. He picks his lyric book up off of his dash, the red front cover filled with doodles and tape- the sticky strips being the only thing keeping it attached to the rest of the old notebook. After slipping the song I'd so painstakingly written for him safely amongst his own writings, he shifts the truck into reverse, and we roll backwards out of my driveway until we're facing the road to school.

I'm feeling pretty good now, my cheeks still a faint shade of crimson at all the affectionate nicknames he'd been spewing at me.

Sweetie, sweetheart, baby... Sunshine.

"I like that," I utter quietly as he presses onto the gas peddle.

"Hm?" he inquires absentmindedly, big, strong hands gripping the steering wheel as he focuses on the road in front of us.

"Sunshine. I think that's a good nickname. It reminds me of your song... The one you sang for me last night when I couldn't sleep?"

He doesn't say anything, but that's not too much of a surprise. The majority of our conversations are completely one-sided anyway, so I don't really mind when I'm answered with silence.

"You have a really pretty voice, you know. N-not pretty like a lady, but pretty like... the mountains in the morning... if that makes any sense. It probably doesn't... Gah! Jesus," I trip over my own words, stuttering a bit when I get too excited. "You should play some of your songs in front of people. Like on stage or something. I know e-everybody would want to have them on their phones like I do, then you could sell CDs and have concerts like Metallica and Nirvana. You could be famous, Craig."

My ramble stops dead when I feel a set of worn fingers wrap fondly around the top one of my bent knees. I jerk in surprise before gawking at the rough appendage. Craig doesn't notice my bewildered expression, however, because he's now driving one-handed as his right one is occupied with squeezing the knobby joint under my jeans. Once the shock fades away, I sink into my seat, and rest my hand on top of his with a bit of uncertainty. It feels weird, like my body is a machine and my veins are wires thirsty for electricity. His touch is the outlet that's fueling them. Little shocking pulses began streaming through my body the moment I felt him, trickling up and down my spine as I rub the fleshy peaks of his knuckles with both my thumbs.

They're red and horribly scarred. Crisscrossed patterns of raised, poorly healed flesh practically litter the hand I'm caressing so delicately. Nearly every bump and line is a result of the times he'd slammed his angry fists against brick walls and locker doors until the precious skin blanketing his bones gave way and split open. Craig is only eighteen. His hands should look like they've seen little hardship, fresh and new without a blemish to be seen. Instead, it looks like he'd used them to claw his way out of hell.

Mine look so meek in comparison.

I spread my fingers out over the top of his, the very tips of mine just barely touching the bony joints in the middle of his digits. I can feel some bumps of hardened blood, little hills on his boxy fingers made up of long lines of scabs. It looks like Ruby's cat got a hold of them again. I frown at the freshly healing cuts before reaching into the pocket of my baggy grey sweatshirt.

I want to make him better. I want to make him feel good and happy, because something inside me is telling me that Craig isn't any of those things right now. I can see it in the worn look on his face, the grogginess of his motions, and the glossiness of his eyes. He's going through a lot of something right now, although he's trying really hard not to let it show.

A little tin box greets my hand as it slips into the pocket, and I fumble with it for a moment before pulling out a few colorful band aids.

His gaze flashes at me when he first feels a sticky purple strip being pressed carefully against his pointer finger. I lift it up to wrap the band aid all the way around, covering one of his many cuts before moving onto the next finger.

Soon, each one of his wounds has been wrapped in a different colored neon bandage, and he's back to gently squeezing my leg.

****...** **

The hallway is always so crowded with people in the morning. I struggle not to get ran into as Token, Craig, and I wait rather impatiently for Clyde to get done rummaging through his locker. I remain close to my friends, practically climbing up Token's side to keep away from the relentless and uncaring flow of students who repeatedly run right into me. It's like being short makes me invisible sometimes, and I really hate it.

Someone's big hip rudely smashes against my messenger bag, and they just keep on walking as the massive, swinging weight nearly leaves me toppling to the floor. Token helps stabilize me while Craig glares into the crowed as if someone should be beheaded for this atrocity.

"GAH! Oh no!" I kneel down on the floor to snatch up the broken cup-bottle-thermos thing that my mom bought me with love and that Stan broke by being rude. It doesn't hold things like coffee and Sprite anymore. Instead, I adapted the plastic cylinder into a pencil case. I even have the note that my mom wrote about me being her favorite boy taped onto the inside so that can be happy every time I need to get a pencil.

I don't think I'll ever be able to look her in the eyes and tell her I let her present get broken.

If she found that out I might not get to be her favorite anymore.

"Be careful, Tweek. You'll get stomped on if you crawl under people like that," Token scolds once I return shakily to his side. I grip the cup to my chest, and pack myself tight in between my three friends like they're a wall protecting me from every other human being in the building.

I feel a strong and encouraging pat on my back before our little group rejoins the flow of students pouring through the hallway, the lot of us on our way to the cafeteria for breakfast. I'm safest cocooned between them. No one can bump into me, and I don't have to worry about being trampled. Still, I catch sight of something in the corner of my eye that causes me to deviate from my usual path. A group of friends stand loosely around an open locker, a redhead poking through a neat little shelf of textbooks as two blond boys stand idly on either side of him.

I peek in at a little origami bird I've been keeping safely tucked inside my froggy cup, and smile to myself when I think to show Kenny. I squeeze past Token and Clyde to make my way over to him and his friends, but don't make it very far. Something grabs the back of my shirt with a strong and relentless grip, making me stumble back and ram harshly against whoever's behind me.

"Ouch," I cry out in disapproval, my eyebrows knitting together when a hand covered in multicolored bandaids squeezes me tightly to its owner's side like I can't be trusted not to wonder off.

"For the love of God, Craig, stop pulling on him like that!" Token hisses in warning. "You're going to hurt him!"

Immediately, the iron grip holding me in place loosens, and the hand shrinks away reluctantly.

My group is held still in the congested hallway, like a heavy rock poking through the surface of a river current, while Token and Craig stare at one another in what I can only describe as a standoff. Just the look on Token's face alone would have been enough to jolt Craig into letting go of me, but the giant's annoyed counter expression shows just how unenthused he is with being told how he can and can't handle his own shadow.

He puts his disdain on display with a raised middle finger.

These two always remind me of cowboys in old western movies, hands on their gun holsters, staring one another down with narrowed eyes as the rest of the town gawks at the exchange through wooden shutters.

I can practically see them in their leather chaps, some corny harmonica solo playing in the background as Craig's black cowboy hat dips down to hide his hateful glare. Token tips his head back, his fingers curling around the grip of the handgun that's still stuffed in the leather covering hanging low on his hip.

Clyde quickly continues on to break up the staring match and lead our group through the hall before either cowboy has the chance to draw their weapon, but neither Craig or Token move to follow him.

The four of us are supposed to be a team, a family.

It hurts me to be the wedge that's always being driven between them.

"C-come on, guys," I mutter before taking ahold of both my cowboys' hands and tugging them in Clyde's direction like a scared child. "L-lets go eat, okay?"

Token gives in first, turning his back to his opponent for my sake before I lead them both to the cafeteria by the grip I have on them.

By the time we reach the dining hall, Clyde is already waiting in a long line for breakfast. I can see the red sleeves of his jersey jacket from all the way across the room. My heart sinks all the way down into the soles of my shoes when I see who he's chatting with.

She stands idly to his left, wrapped comfortably in a big red hoodie as a tight pair of black leggings cling snugly to her lovely legs. She looks so happy, laughing at something he said with calm and relaxed movements.

She has absolutely no idea.

Nobody has any idea.

I scan the sea of half-empty tables of students, and notice a few teachers dotted around the room in their button up shirts and nice slacks. Not a single one of them knows about the sweaty, panting messes Craig and I made out of each other last night. Nobody knows of the fond memories I've stowed away of our forbidden first kisses and unforgivable late night encounters, like the time he snuck into my house and jacked me off in the bath tub. I feel so alienated being a part of something like this. Yet, standing beside him with my fingers wrapped around his big left thumb, I've never felt so alive.

The pretty blond spots us, honing in on our whereabouts like she's got some sort of Craig censor drilled into her head that beeps every time he walks into the same room as her. Now she's on her way over to us, long and flawless curls bouncing around her shoulders as she gets closer and closer.

The closer she gets the lower I sink.

"Hey, sweetie," she greets her boyfriend with a smile, long limbs stretching out to envelope him in her glory.

Don't touch him.

Don't fucking touch him.

He drops my hand to wrap his arms around her in return, the fabric of the precious jacket I gave back to him this morning folding and tugging at his shoulders as he holds her slender frame against him contently.

No, no, no. You love ME you can't hold her like that, not while I'm right here, not while I have no choice but to watch.

She snuggles into him with a tightening grip, a noise of happiness escaping from her lightly glossed lips like she's holding the whole world in a loving embrace.

The world she's holding is mine, and I don't at all appreciate it.

She finally lets him go after a quick kiss, but it's only so she can turn her affection onto me. I don't fight it. I don't struggle to get away or try to avoid her open arms like I so desperately want to. Instead, I walk into them, and let her hold me loosely with a few pats to my back. She still smells fresh like morning time, and I breathe in the crisp smell while glancing at Craig from around her arm.

He's leering at us. His eyes are downcast and brows pinching together as he watches us embrace.

This is when I feel a heaviness. It's only comparable to a tidal wave. I watch, shaken and horrified, as the wall of dark, black water raises high up above me. I can only gawk helplessly as it crashes down and crushes me like a shoe to an ant, and then sweeps away what's left of my broken body.

"You look tired," she states the obvious, tearing my mind from it's daydream. I wonder what tipped her off, the massive bags hanging low beneath my eyes, or the fact that I yet again opted to wear last night's PJs to school.

I don't have what it takes to make up a fable about how those dirty lips she just kissed definitely weren't sucking on my meat stick last night, or how I'm definitely not so tired because her boyfriend was pounding his dick into my ass. So, rather than fabricating some lie, I simply nod my head at her.

She offers me a smile. It's a small one that seems to be of understanding, even though she doesn't really understand at all. Maybe if I whispered my secrets in her ear right now she would. Maybe then she'd cry the way I do, hold him a little tighter, and finally hate me the way I deserve to be hated. Until the day comes when she sees my hand in his and feels that sickening sting, she will never understand.

Then again, I'm the one he's cheating with. Now, to be the one he's cheating on?

That's a whole different kind of agony, I'm sure.

"I'm hungry," I pipe up, turning my shamed gaze away from the girl in front of me and to my friends standing behind her. "I think I'm gonna go stand in line with Clyde. A-are you guys hungry?"

"Nah, I had breakfast before I left the house this morning," Token informs me before pulling out a chair and taking a seat at our usual table.

Craig steps forward, however. His guitar case is hanging loosely from his shoulder and bumping against his back every time he steps closer. I smile, and take a discreet hold of his thumb before we wander off together. I'm glad the cafeteria isn't usually very full in the morning. I feel a lot less pressure when I'm not being suffocated by a hundred bodies.

We meet up with Clyde, and he smiles at us after Craig practically forces our way into the middle of the line. He does so quite rudely, stepping right in front of an underclassman and forcing the entire row of students to take a few steps back so that he can make a cozy little spot for us to stand right behind Clyde. Nobody says anything about it, which is kind of funny. I saw Kenny try to cut one time, and everyone behind him screamed about it until he gave in and went to the back of the line.

Then again, nobody's afraid of Kenny.

"Hi again, you," Clyde addresses me happily. He's smiling, like usual, but there's something weird about it today. He looks strained, tired, just like Craig and I do.

I guess I wasn't the only person who couldn't sleep last night.

"Hey," I reply while trying to sound happy and reassuring, but the way I'm wringing my hands together and swaying nervously is probably throwing that off a bit. I keep myself sandwiched between Craig and Clyde as we advance through the line, and I have to stop myself from chuckling when I realize just how well the tallest of us stands out.

The tallest of __all__ of us.

He peers down into the glass confines of the cafeteria counter. It looks like we get to choose between rubberized pancakes and French toast sticks this morning. I say rubberized because both of which are nearly impossible to digest, let alone chew. We opt for pop-tarts, as usual, while Clyde gets himself enough rubber pancakes to feed a family of three.

After we return to our table, things continue as every Thursday morning has before. We're less crowded than we are at lunch, I get to have my seat beside Craig, and Bebe is distracted enough with Token and Clyde to not speak much with us. I poke lazily at my pop-tart, tearing off the un-iced edges before pulling it apart to lick out the paste inside. It tastes like blueberries, which makes me smile.

"Hey, Teacup," I hear someone utter from across the table.

"Gah! U-uh, hm?" I sputter while trying to wipe some sticky blue pop-tart paste off of my chin.

"Wanna walk with me for a second?"

I look up with a tremble to see Token looking at me expectantly. It was his voice ringing in my ears, and I pause in worry with my tongue stuck inside the ooey gooey goodness of my pop-tart.

"What?! W-why?" I sputter.

He chuckles, "It'll just be for a minute."

Everybody looks in my direction, curious eyes nearly bugging out of their heads as they stare. I hate when suddenly everyone's gawking at me, and feel pressured to get the fuck away as soon as I can. As I stand up Craig begins to mimic my movements, ever so ready to remain stuck as far up my boney little ass as he possibly can.

Figuratively and literally.

"I'd like to walk with Tweek _ _alone__ ," Token pipes up after clearing his throat. The look Craig gives him is a weird one, almost nervous before his eyes roll in his head until they're locked on me. His eyebrows are raised up high, and his lips purse together before he lowers himself back into his chair.

I work my way around my seat, and, with messenger bag in hand, Token and I slip away from the table and out of the cafeteria. Clinging to my bag, I swallow hard. The tall man beside me doesn't look upset or angry, but I'm still scared to death. He only ever pulls us aside like this when something serious is going on, and I'm almost always left out of those kinds of things.

We walk through the school hallway. The heavy crowd has thinned out, leaving little groups of students dotted around their lockers. Token walks me back through the end of the hall, and we squat down behind a little brick wall by the band room. Nobody is ever back here in the morning, so it's really quiet as he tries to gather up his thoughts.

"I'm sorry about what happened yesterday," he begins slowly once we've both settled in. "I didn't mean to make you so upset."

Halloween, he's talking about Halloween. I sigh, and allow my tense limbs to go limp as I relax against the brick wall behind me.

"I-it's okay... I di-didn't mean to freak out about it..." I counter his apology with another before curling up into a sort of ball.

He sighs, and then leans backwards to give me a little space. "I guess I just thought doing a little something without being stuck to Craig's hip would be good for you."

"S-so you did plan all that out," I grumble in annoyance. "Nichole and Bebe and everything; it was all just so I'd go without Craig?"

"Well, no," he replies calmly despite my obvious frustration. "It's not like I was plotting against you guys or anything... I've just been worried about you and thought it was a good way to coax you out a bit."

I let out a strangled yowl, a distressed noise that yet again leaves me sounding like a small animal. "Worried? Why would you be worried? I'm fine!"

Token frowns, a sigh working it's way out of his throat.

"Truth is, I'm more worried about how you'll be doing after we all graduate," he admits, voice calculated and steady like he's been wanting to say this for a really long time. "You know that Clyde and I won't be around much by time summer comes and goes, and Craig's going to be starting his own life."

I don't say anything. I don't know what to say. Graduation hasn't crossed my mind all year because it just seemed so far away, and I figured that even when high school's over we'll all pretty much be the same. We'd just be working instead of going to school every day.

"I'm just worried you'll lose yourself. It's not like you'll be without us or anything. Just because Clyde and I are going away for college doesn't mean we won't be there for you, but... you've been stuck to us so long I don't think you know _ _how__ to make other friends. You don't know how to rely on anyone else or even yourself because you never really got the chance to, and that makes me nervous."

Now _ _I'm__ getting nervous.

"W-what, so... I don't get what you're saying, what does this have to do with Craig and Halloween?"

Token's mouth goes lopsided as he thinks of a proper way to explain himself.

"Craig has always been your wall. Even when we were little he kept everyone else around you away, and the both of you sort of used each other to force the rest of the world out of your little bubble." He blinks a couple times, the concern in his voice finally coming out. "That was fine when we were kids, but we aren't little anymore, Teacup. We aren't little, and the wall you and Craig are building just keeps getting higher. I see it more and more every day with the way you treat each other... like how you're nervous to even walk into a different room without him, and how he grabbed you in the hallway this morning. It's... unhealthy."

"I..." my voice gets caught in my throat, and I curl even more into myself as I hide my face in my knees. I suddenly feel so defensive and ashamed, both at the same time. Part of me wants to defend our relationship with guns blazing, and the other wants to crawl under a rock and hide until this goes away. "You're making it sound w-worse than it is."

"Okay, how many dances have you been to?" he asks as if it will somehow prove his point.

"U-um... One? I went to that sweethearts d-dance freshman year, I think..."

"How long did it take you to beg Craig to let you go?"

I glare over my knee when I understand where he's taking this conversation. "... A week..."

"So you begged him for a week to let you go, and why did you leave early?"

We left after only a half an hour because Craig almost punched somebody for spilling punch on him, but I don't repeat that to Token. I already get his point.

"I'm not trying to say that Craig's a bad guy. He's only... misguided at times," I hear my friend's voice clarify once he realizes his words are beginning to sink in, "and you're too attached to him. You're too used to letting him control you. What are you going to do when he starts working; when he gets married and starts a family? You'll have to learn how to live all over again just because he won't be glued to you anymore, and it shouldn't be that way."

I gulp hard, my eyes frantically scanning the empty hall to try and find a way out of this. Marriage and a family? Craig never talked about those kinds of things before, and he's the last person I'd picture yearning for a domestic life.

He can't want those things.

I can't give them to him.

"I-I don't know what you want me to say," I admit weakly. "H-he's my best friend in the world. I don't want that to stop."

"You don't need to say anything, and I'm not suggesting that you and Craig shouldn't stay best friends. I just think that it'd be best for you if you could learn how to make new relationships and trust other people a little bit, branch out and find yourself in all of this mess.

"After all, there's more to life than Craig Tucker."

****...** **

Clyde and I are sitting side by side in art class, sketching away at the papers before us like everything is normal even though we both know it's not. He's unusually quiet, and I'm unusually unresponsive. My little chat I had with Token by the band room at breakfast has really been tearing away at me. Since when is he so concerned about my relationship with Craig? He's sort of always been forceful about independence when it came to my social development or whatever you wanna call it, but I don't know how to feel about his sudden and urgent concerns. It almost feels intrusive, although I guess I can understand where he was coming from... sort of.

Clyde sets his cell phone down on the table between us, the most depressing dubstep song I've ever heard blaring from the cheap little plastic speakers plugged into the chunky device. Seriously, I didn't think it was possible for such loud beats to be anything other that: loud and obnoxious noises, but the sound filling the silence is enjoyable despite the somber tone to it.

Bored and curious, I peek over my friend's shoulder. His pencil is moving quickly across the plain white sheet, transforming a blank canvas into something just as horrifying as it is intriguing. Clyde likes to draw weird things sometimes, like these dark looking creatures he invents in his mind. Currently, he's absorbed in outlining the protruding teeth of some eyeless dog. I think it's a dog, anyway, just a hairless one with really tight skin and teeth so long and jagged it can't even shut its mouth all the way. It's lying on the floor, overgrown back bones ripping out of thin, taunt flesh as one bloodied paw reaches out in agony. Despite the monster's lack of facial features, it's quite obviously in pain. Curled lips pull back through a leather muzzle and hard muscles tense as it bleeds out from the torn flesh of its back.

He moves on to better outline another creature. It's a lizard, or a serpent maybe. Whichever it is, it seems to be trying to relieve the dog of its pain.

Clyde apparently isn't the only person being inspired by the music flowing around our table. Kenny taps his foot, running his fingers noiselessly over tight strings and strumming quickly although his pick only barely grazes the cords. I feel like I'm watching a video put on mute and dubbed over, but the effect is broken every time the grease ball of a blond stops to stare at the art room doors.

He's been doing that since we came to class about fifteen minutes ago, head perking up and metaphorical tail wagging like he's expecting someone special to be on the other side. He's only left whimpering every time an undesired person walks through the doors. This time it's an underclassman that just came back from using the bathroom, and I can read the disappointment on Kenny's face like a sad book.

Still, I don't bother digging any further into his behavior. It's none of my business, anyway. Instead, I remember the paper bird I've been keeping safe in my once-cup now-pencil case and find myself excited for some reason.

"O-oh!" I breathe out while fishing for it in the plastic cylinder. "I wanted to show you what I learned."

Kenny watches in curiosity, blue eyes focused on the cup before I reveal the paper creature. "I can do it without the instructions now! I… practiced all through resource room yesterday, and I finally did it by myself this morning!"

A smile comes to the blond's face, his guitar idling in his lap when he leans forward to examine my work. "See. I told you you'd get good at it, didn't I?"

I nod in elated agreement. "Do you think it'd be okay if I could keep your book longer? I'm, um, l'm learning how to make frogs next."

"Sure, man. Keep it 'till you learn all of 'em if you want."

I decide I definitely like Kenny.

His head perks up suddenly, peeking at the classroom's double doors as they creek open for about the fifth time so far today. The first thing I see is a mess of puffy hair, fiery and bright like the flames of a summer bonfire. There's a boy somewhere underneath that red mop, pushing the door open with his back as he holds a large assortment of supplies in his arms. He seems to be struggling with all of it. Kenny immediately bounces out of his seat to assist him. His guitar is left abandoned on the art room table, but, rather than helping, he just throws his arms around his unsuspecting friend. Pencils and books fall to the floor as Kyle loses his grip on them. He laughs in Kenny's arms, clinging to what is left of his slipping supplies like his grip will soon give way.

This display reminds me of a dog greeting his owner at the door, tail wagging as he jumps up and down in excitement. It's funny seeing Kenny this way.

When he finally releases the taller of the two from his killer grip he drops to the floor to collect the fallen items. Kyle watches him, situating his books and a rather impressive collection of paint bottles against his chest so that the floor won't end up speckled with squirts of undesired colors. A pair of tan cargo pants hang from a brown belt squeezing Kyle's hips, and a loose green hoodie is covering his torso. I think Token has that same hoodie, except it's purple.

They walk back over to us, setting down all of Kyle's stuff before the redhead leans over the tabletop and heaves out a relieved sigh.

"What took so long, man?" Kenny asks. "I've been waiting all period for you to show up."

"Oh, sorry. Millie caught me in the hallway, so I got distracted for a bit."

"Ohhh~ Your girlfriend?" I hear Kenny ask.

"Yes, my girlfriend," Kyle agrees with the shake of his head. "Stop wiggling your eyebrows at me like that. It's creepy."

A breath of a chuckle slips past the chapped lips of the filthy looking blond. He's fingering what looks like a burn hole in the front of his orange jacket. Warn out, raggedy jeans hang low on his thin hips as his eyes linger oddly at the wall behind Kyle's head. His hair's still greasy. It's little more than a stringy curtain of gold that looks like it hasn't been washed in weeks, and when I look down I see the only thing holding his left shoe together is a long strip of duck tape.

Sometimes I'm not sure whether I should feel sorry for him, or be disgusted.

"I thought I was going to get splattered with paint on my way here," Kyle decides to change the subject, gesturing to the six rather large and colorful bottles Kenny's slender hands are arranging on our table.

"That would have been adorable," the blond comments offhandedly before looking up at the unfinished mural unfolding on the brick wall behind him. Kyle sticks out his tongue in disagreement before looking back at the lovely artwork as well.

"Ugh, I'm never going to get this done," he sighs before unrolling a set of paint brushes, one of the many odds and ends he'd been struggling to hold in his arms.

"Aw, sure you will, Ky!" Kenny spews encouragement as I pull out a white sheet of paper. I fold as Kyle searches, picking out the perfect sizes of brushes he needs. I press a corner into the center of the page, creating the delicate chest of the creature I'm trying to make. It's not until I'm almost finished that I realize I'm being stared at by a big pair of apple green eyes.

"You know how to make pigeons?" he asks with a bright smile, a sort of wonder budding on his face I'd never seen before.

"Y-yeah?" I mutter with my pupils darting around the room. "I mean, I guess they can be pigeons if you want them to be. I like to call them doves because of the white paper."

"Aw, that's cool," Kyle takes a seat beside me, which immediately puts my personal bubble at risk of being popped. At least it's not Kenny. I like him and all, but the stench of his cologne is unbearable. "I used to make them all the time when I was younger. You remember that, Ken?"

My little origami session seems to have thrown him completely off track, as he's abandoned his paint set to watch me work.

Kenny is now back in his seat with guitar in hand, strumming quietly under the sound of Clyde's music. My friend seems completely unaware of everything that's happening around him, sketching away in his own little world as his current favorite songs blare out of his cell phone.

Kenny chuckles to himself. "Yeah, back during like, sophomore year or something. Those were the days."

Kyle nods. "Those were the good days! Do you remember the messenger pigeons?"

"The what now?" I ask quietly, timidly, like I'm afraid someone's going to lurch forward and slap me for speaking.

"Messenger pigeons?" Kyle repeats himself. "They were birds like the one you're folding, but they had messages in them."

Kenny begins to laugh out a hearty chuckle that makes me jerk and hide my face in my hands. "Yes, I remember!"

He leans across the table at me, eyes flickering with amusement when he utters, "See, Kyle and I used to be fags, so we left naughty love letters on each other's windowsills, and-"

"Oh, don't listen to him!" Kyle cuts the other off before pushing Kenny's face away with the palm of his hand. "He's always making stuff like that up!"

The blond snickers to himself as Kyle goes on to set the record straight. "When we were younger we used to make origami like that. We had this instruction book we'd pass back and forth in class-"

"Yeah, we got it taken away like a thousand times," Kenny interrupts.

"Ahem, __you__ got it taken away a thousand times," the redhead corrects him with a cockeyed grin.

My eyes wander to the spine of Kenny's origami book poking out of my open bag.

"Anyways, Ken didn't used to have a phone, so I woke up one morning, and when I opened my blinds there was a paper bird sitting outside my window. It had a little message inside it, so the next night I put one on his window, too."

"Yeah, I remember being so disappointed," Kenny mutters while shaking his head.

"What? Why were you disappointed in my bird?" comes the hurt question.

Kenny adjusts himself in his seat, and then leans forward in my direction yet again. "Okay, so I gave Kyle the nicest little bird with the sweetest little message about how happy I was that we were friends. I was all like _ _'Kyle! I love you, man! You're the best friend I've ever had! I don't know what I'd do without you, bro!'__ "

It's weird how suddenly melodramatic he's being. He's on the verge of pretend tears as he tugs hysterically at his chuckling friend's sleeve. I've never seen anybody so hyper over something so small, and it makes me shrink into my seat uncomfortably. I'm not used to all this energy, as I spend the majority of my time glued to the leg of a statue.

"After all the hard work I put into that pigeon I thought I'd get something all nice and heartfelt back, like __'OMG! I love you, too, man! We'll always be bros, K?'__ " Kenny takes a dramatic breath before muttering, "Well that's NOT what I got... Do you wanna know what I got?"

Kyle is laughing by this point, because he already knows the punch line.

"U-um... What did you get?" I ask with a tremble.

"US History... Read page ninety-one through ninety-seven. Complete page nintey-eight..." Kenny deflates. "Homework... I wrote about my undying appreciation for our friendship and Kyle's response was a pigeon with homework in it."

I hear Clyde chuckle to the right of me as Kyle immediately tries to explain himself.

"I was just trying to-"

"Shhh!" Kenny interrupts.

"But it wasn't-"

"Ch, ch, ch!... I'm too ashamed of you to allow you to speak- ouch!"

Kyle punched him in the arm.

"Anyway, like I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted," the redhead continues with a look in the offender's direction. "Messenger pigeons started out like fancy note passing, then they morphed into something different when we started writing wishes down instead of notes. We used to tie them to balloons to watch them fly."

"We had the best childhood, man," Ken interjects.

"Sure did."

It's weird hearing them talk so openly, so happily and whole. They float around one another in perfect harmony, like they both simply _belong_. It sort of reminds me of the way Craig and I used to be back before we had all of these secrets to hide. It really hurts to think that I used to tell him about absolutely everything, but if I was open like that now it would most likely lead to a fight.

That's a thought that horrifies me.

"Why'd you tie them to balloons?" I ask with my head down low. Communication with anyone outside my group is a rarity, so this feels off. "You'd never get them back again."

"That was part of it," Kyle explains. "The idea was: Let it go. If it was meant to be, it would come back. So, if we'd ever see one of the birds again, the wish we wrote on it would come true."

"Gah! D-did it work?" I ask much louder than necessary, my already-wide eyes only growing larger as my curiosity is peaked.

"We only ever found one of the birds again, but it came true," Kyle assures me.

"Ah! Really?! S-so if I did that one of my wishes might come true, too?"

"You never know, Dorothy." The orange clad boy answers for the other, chuckling at the irony. "Just might."

I look at the paper I've been folding long and hard. It sounds like a really silly prospect, something like a wish being realized just because I might happen to stumble across the same piece of paper more than once. Still, I suppose stranger things have happened.

I spend the next few minutes trying to decide exactly what I should wish for, something simple to start off with since it wouldn't be a good idea to write my real wishes down first.

Something simple to wish for...

I pull out a fresh sheet of blank paper, and then, while hiding where the pencil meets it behind my hand, I jot down a simple request.

Kyle and Kenny move away from the table as I begin to fold. I don't see them get up, but I hear their chairs pull out across the tile floor along with their voices chatting randomly. Stuff gets moved around me, but none of it's mine so I don't care much.

Time goes by, silent and still despite the occasional laughter and low murmur of the other students. I make the dove just as I remember from the instructions, but try to keep my shaky hands steady so that it will be as perfect as I can make it. Clyde is still next to me, another sad song playing from his phone as the heel of his sneaker thumps hard against the floor.

"That looks really awesome, man. I didn't know you could paint," he pipes up. I jerk in my seat a bit, and perk up to see who he's talking to.

Kyle turns around on his perch at the top of a short, orange ladder. It's folded open and resting against the wall, his long legs draped down over some of the metal steps as he looks down at us. Kenny is sitting on the floor underneath said ladder, peeking up at his friend's legs through the steps above him as he picks at the bottom of one of Kyle's shoes. I have no idea why he decided that was a good place to lounge, considering I'm pretty sure sitting under a ladder is a really bad idea. It's also a great way to get crushed or cursed with bad luck, but Kenny somehow looks like that's where he belongs. It's like the picture just wouldn't be complete without him poking around under there, and, despite the obvious danger, it's almost endearing to watch him pick idly at his friend's shoe.

I glance up to the very top of the ladder, and just now do I realize what Kyle's doing up there. That mural I'd been so fond of, so envious of just yesterday. That beautiful masterpiece I've been watching unfold since the beginning of the year; it's appearing from the bristles of his paint brush.

It was Kyle all along.

I never would have guessed.

"Who's the lady?" Clyde asks in reference to the red haired woman within Kyle's tree.

"Oh... It sort of represents my mom," he admits before pressing his brush back up against the wall. "She was diagnosed with breast cancer about a year ago, so... it's sort of a tribute to her strength."

"Cool, did she die?" comes a question so blunt and sudden that it almost sounds malicious.

"Um... No?" Kyle mutters uncomfortably, giving Clyde a weird look over his shoulder. "She's in remission..."

"Oh! That's good, then. I sort of know what that's like. My mom had cancer too when I was little, but they caught it early."

"Oh, does she go to the cancer walk?" Kyle asks. He's seemingly easing into the conversation, although he's treading lightly. "I might have met her."

"Not unless you see ghosts." Clyde laughs like he just heard a funny joke. "She's dead."

"Oh... I um..." Kyle trips over his words awkwardly, taken off guard and unsure how to respond despite how nonchalant and unfazed my companion seems. "I'm sorry, I didn't know..."

Clyde shrugs like it's not a big deal, like he's numb, like he can't feel anything. "Worse things have happened."

Kyle decides to stop talking, like no matter what he says he can't smooth over the awkwardness that's already surfaced. I just end up feeling bad. Bad for Kyle because of his mom, and bad for Clyde because of everything else. The brunette beside me seems oblivious to how uneasy and off-put he made Kyle feel. He's just smiling and drawing just like he always does.

It's hard for me to watch him try to make connections with people, only for him to fail miserably and not even realize it.

I wonder if I ever do that.

We spend the rest of the class period quietly. Clyde and I do, anyway. Kenny's over there making some crazy noises, and I can hear his and Kyle's laughter fade in and out as I observe the finished bird in my hand. My wish is tucked inside, although some of the words are poking out over the left wing because of how big I wrote in it. That's okay, though. Now all I need is a balloon.

Eventually, the bell rings.

Everyone jumps up from their seats to scramble for the door, and I take a long look at how much more of Kyle's masterpiece has unfolded as he hands bottles of paint down to his friend below.

They're still putting things away by the time Clyde and I get to the door.

Naturally, we find Craig waiting for us in the hall. He has Holocaust first period, which just happens to be in the room across the hall from our first class. The ogre gives us a half assed nod of his head to say hello. Clyde returns the gesture, but I decide latching myself onto Craig like a sucker fish to glass is a much more appropriate greeting. He pats my back, and we yet again join the current of bodies flowing through the hall.

"How was class, bro?" Clyde chirps lightheartedly over the murmur of voices all around us.

His brother shrugs his boxy shoulders, a look of disinterest on his face. "Good... You look better."

"I feel better!"

That's as far as their conversation gets, because as soon as we turn past another row of lockers we've already reached Clyde's destination. He bids us adieu like the classy fellow he is, and Craig and I continue on.

"Um, ugh. I gotta pee," I inform him just moments after Clyde splits off from us, and then veer off course towards the senior bathroom. He remains on my heels like a looming ghost, present, but not really here, as he steps in behind me.

It's empty, just like I was hoping.

My bag hits the ground, and my zipper lets out a whine when I tug it down to pull myself out of my pants. He leans up against the wall beside me, just like last time, and his mischievous gaze quickly wanders to places it shouldn't be.

"Ah! W-what did I say about staring at people's junk?" I scold in embarrassment, my cheeks turning pink as his eyes shamelessly linger on what's in my hands.

"It's nothing I haven't seen before," he reminds me rather blandly.

"GAH! D-do you always gotta be such a pervert?" I mutter. "You're worse than Kenny."

"How would you know?" Craig asks, eyebrow cocked. I can't tell if he's joking or being serious, so I disregard his question.

We don't say anything for a while, at least not until I tuck myself back in my jeans and I reach for my bag.

"What did Token want this morning?" he asks suddenly and rather monotonously, but I surprisingly catch a hint of nervousness in his voice. I have a feeling he's been thinking about it all period.

"I don't know," I utter quietly before standing upright with my stuff in my arms.

I do know, and Craig knows that I know. Still, I don't think he would like what Token had to say, and the last thing I want to do is cause another fight.

"How?" he insists. He speaks in such small sentences sometimes that it takes me a moment to understand what he's talking about.

I let out a grunt at how forceful he's being, and snap rather bitterly, "It d-doesn't feel very good to be left out of things, does it?"

"Huh?"

"Y-you never include me in anything. I mean, I don't even know what's the matter with Clyde."

A stillness fills the air, one that's stale and odd

"Neither does Token," Craig admits as if that would somehow make me feel better.

"But Bebe does."

"What?"

"I heard her talking about it on the phone ," I grumble. I don't bring up that I also heard mention of Bebe's _ _favorite thing__ , which may or may not involve the dick that was in my ass last night. "How come she gets to know more about my friends than I do?"

He doesn't say anything at first, just stands there quietly as I brood in frustration. "I'm sick and tired of everybody treating me like I can't keep secrets. You of all people should know that I can."

His features turn sharp, almost like that hurt him.

"We don't keep things from you because we don't trust you. It's 'cause we want you to be happy."

"That doesn't even make sense..."

"The less time you spend worrying, the more time you spend not worrying," he explains to the best of his ability, although he isn't doing the best job. "You have too much to worry about without our problems on your mind..."

I'm not sure if I believe in his logic. Still, I drop the subject either way, and my exchange with Token is taken off the table of suitable conversation topics for now. Eventually, I move to the sink to wash my hands, and Craig can tell I'm still frustrated by my silence. He decides to blurt out the first thing that comes to his filthy mind to diminish the thickening tension.

"You know what would be really hot?" He asks out of the blue, a bit of a cockeyed grin pulling at his lips as is eyes wander around the room like he's playing through some dirty scene in his head.

I look over at him. I'm not sure I want to know.

"... What?"

"...If you'd let me suck on you."

Almost immediately, I let out a giggle that sounds quite scandalous. "What? In here?"

He nods, a smirk still plastered on his face as he gives me those __eyes__. The mischievous, lustful ones that make my body vibrate.

"How can you call me the risky one when you're standing there asking me for public sex?" I laugh a bit louder than I should, a few of his own muffled chuckles joining in with mine.

"I said a blow job. Sex would be good, too, though," he snickers with a few puffs of hot, needy breath.

If I didn't know better I'd think he's actually trying to seduce me right now.

"You know what would be __really__ hot?" I shove his arm playfully in my embarrassment. My cheeks are red, but I can't help but smile at how utterly ridiculous this all sounds coming from the mouth of the stone faced and unfeeling Craig Tucker.

"What?" He asks, teeth on his bottom lip in anticipation.

"If you'd shut up long enough for me to wash my hands," I deadpan while turning on the spigot.

"Aw." He sounds legitimately disappointed, face falling low with gravity.

I shake my head while trying not to laugh at our exchange. As I scrub my hands with soapy water I hear a bit of noise behind me, like paper crinkling and sliding together over the steady flow of water I'm dipping my hands in. Still, I don't think much of the faint noise until I look up in the mirror to see what the giant behind me is poking around in.

"What do you have there?" I ask with a smile.

"You tell me," he utters.

I jerk around in confusion, and my heart leaps out of my chest when I see the piece of white paper he's clutching. It's covered in fold lines.

My fold lines.

" _ _GAH__! Craig, don't read that!" I demand, although I fear it may already be too late. "Did you take it from my bag?!"

"It was on the floor," he answers. "Where'd you learn to make stuff with paper?"

"K-Kenny taught me how! N-now give it back!"

His face twists as if he doesn't like that answer.

Jumping for what's in his grasp, I try to reach up with my soapy hands for what had once been my perfectly folded messenger pigeon. My wish is spread out and open, right in front of the very eyes I'd not wanted to read it. He pulls it up a little higher so that I definitely won't be able to reach, head tilted in curiosity as he reads over it for the second time.

"I wish Craig would let me have his jacket." He recited what's on my paper rather emotionlessly.

My face goes even more red than it was earlier, and I let out a sound of complete and utter frustration.

"I told you not to read it, you butt!" I fuss, on the verge of angry tears.

"If you didn't want anyone to read it, why did you write it down?"

"GAH! Because, _ _Craig__! You write something down in a paper bird and it's supposed to happen. It was a wish and I was trying to see if it came true!" I spit out my explanation.

Despite my angry outburst, he slips the black fabric down from his shoulders, and I freeze up in shock when it swirls in the air above and around me before landing gracefully on my shoulders. I remain wordless as he adjusts the thick and oversized jacket around my tiny frame like a cape, and a strange and contented look finds his face.

I can't move.

I can't speak or even think.

"It did come true," he replies softly, "so don't be mad anymore, okay?"

I blink.

"... Okay."

Reaching my little hands up, I feel the black and tattered denim under my fingers. It's warm, and it still smells like him despite spending the night with me.

"Um... can you teach me how to make a wish bird?" he utters, back to being as boring and monotonous sounding as ever.

****...** **

I didn't see him last period like usual. His girlfriend went to some cheerleading meeting or something like that, and he wanted to go spend time with the perfect little thing. I'm a little sore about it, but my mind is still swimming with everything that's been happening I almost didn't have enough room in my overworked mind to worry about it.

In our second to last period I lived up to my promise and taught him how to make origami. It was really cute having him watch me so closely like that, his head turning to the side like a puppy, as it usually does when he's intrigued. He was so clumsy at first. His big sausage fingers got in their own way as he tried to squeeze together the smaller folds. He was so focused, so determined to figure it out that I jotted down instructions for him. I would have let him borrow Kenny's book, but I have a feeling that little paperback is more valuable to the raggedy boy than he let on.

Now, though, Token and I are headed to his car without Clyde. He's still inside the school because he forgot something in his locker, which isn't at all an uncommon thing, and they'll be dropping me off since Craig's driving his girlfriend home.

I'm really trying not to be upset about it, but it's hard.

"You can sit in the front if you want, Teacup," Token says as I pull open the back door of his fancy car.

I smile at the kind gesture, and opt to walk around and slide in next to him before our car doors slam and we're left waiting on our pokey friend. It's sort of weird leaving school without Craig, but I feel a whole lot better all wrapped up in his coat.

Oh, wait.

 _My_ coat.

I grin like an idiot.

"Incoming, twelve O'clock," Token chuckles. I'm not sure what that means, but I look up anyway to see Clyde running frantically to the car. His Batman backpack is fastened safely to his shoulders as he hauls ass across the parking lot, breath puffing, arms flailing, and face turning red as he runs against the wind.

Token laughs almost hysterically before muttering, "I told him if he wasn't out here in five minutes we'd leave him."

"You're mean," I chuckle.

Clyde jogs around the car before throwing open one of the back doors and slipping inside behind Token.

"Shit, it's getting chilly out there," he comments with an over dramatic shiver.

"It's almost winter. Winter is cold." Token reasons with amusement.

"Why thank you for the update, captain obvious."

It isn't long until Token is trying to roll out of the parking lot before the buses are let out of the gate. Clyde and I settle in rather comfortably, although... Clyde's probably more comfortable than me considering he's back there reclining across the seats with his shoes kicked off.

"Haha, look who's stuck behind us," he says mockingly before sticking his tongue out at the red truck forcing it's way into line.

He's greeted immediately with a raised middle finger, (that just happens to be covered in a yellow bandaid) and the blond girl sitting in my seat behind the glass giggles when Clyde starts making all kinds of crazy faces at them. Bebe starts taunting us back, sticking out her tongue and pulling on one of her eyelids playfully.

Craig revs his engine like he's going to rear end us, but stops when the girl beside him slaps him in the arm.

I frown. I don't feel at all relieved when we pull out onto the street and our vehicles get separated by the oncoming traffic. I only feel abandoned and kind of sad.

"Hey, do you guys want to come over after school Friday and help us finish the Halloween decorations?" Token asks hopefully. "It's only a week away, after all."

"Yes!" Clyde jumps in ecstatically and immediately without a second thought. "We should make a night of it. I mean, how long has it been since all four of us spent the night together?"

"Too long," the driver agrees. "I think a monster movie marathon is in order."

Ugh. Why is it always monsters and horror movies with these people.

"Yes... Yes... Yes," Clyde chants, each exclamation getting progressively louder. "We can shut ourselves up in the theater room, eat popcorn and just chill. Doesn't that sound good, Teacup?"

"Eh, yeah. That sounds like fun..."

My friends continue on with their excitement, talking over which movies we should watch and what kind of popcorn we should eat as we approach my house. I, on the other hand, am contemplating whether or not this movie night will get in the way of the night Craig promised me.

I feel so far away from them, like I'm floating above all their chatter and going numb as the memory of him floods my mind. It's weird.

Token pulls into my driveway, his car slowly rolling to a stop so that I can throw my door open and get out. When I reach down between my legs for my bag, I feel a loose grip on my arm. After jolting up straight and stiff, I see that it was only Token trying to gently gain my attention.

"... Think about what I said today, okay?" Token reminds me softly, a misplaced smile forming on his face as not to make me feel pressured or overwhelmed.

He's worried about me, which makes me nervous. I don't always agree with Token, but he's the smartest guy I've ever met. If he's concerned about the direction my life is going in, maybe that's a good enough reason for me to start being concerned, too.

"Yeah... Okay," I mutter in reply, my hand on the door handle so that I can scramble away as quickly as possible.

"Oh, crap! I almost forgot!" Clyde shouts from the back seat, startling the shit out of me before digging in his back pack. "Craig wanted me to give you this."

He drops a scrunched piece of paper in my palm, and I fumble with it for a moment before sliding out of the car. After my feet hit the pavement they give me happy farewells, and then the slick vehicle carefully pulls out of my driveway.

I let out a breath of a chuckle through my nose when Clyde makes his faces at me through the window.

Once they're out of sight, I look down at what's in my hands. It's a lovely little creature made up of thick black construction paper. A corner of my mouth tugs up my cheek in amusement when I see how crunched and sloppy the beak and wing tips are. His big fingers must have gotten in their own way again.

With a small and unsure quiver, I begin to begrudgingly unfold Craig's creation in the middle of my drive way. He said he wanted to make a wishing bird, so there must be a wish inside of it. When I finally pull it completely apart I flatten it out across my palm, and read the message he's scrawled there in white crayon.

It feels like cold water has been poured over my head, and tears of disbelief begins to pool in my eyes. I read over it a few more times to make sure I'm reading straight through these sudden tears.

I recite what is written inside Craig's little black crow of a wishing bird in a quiet whisper that gets lost in the autumn breeze.

"I want to see if my foot is as big as Neil Armstrong's."


	9. Them

"D-don't forget to feed her! Gah!" I demanded in fear. "A-and her favorite song is Twi-"

"Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star," Craig finished before the title slipped past my lips. "And she likes to hear it before bed. I know, Tweek."

I shivered a moment before looking down at the creature in my arms. Big, round eyes greeting me before I gave her cheek a loving stroke. I didn't want to hand her over. She was my baby, after all. Well, she was the both of our baby, but still.

By that time we'd been swapping her back and forward like a couple of divorcees. It was a ploy we'd invented to keep her safe, considering we'd found out only a couple days beforehand that she was the sole heir to the thrown of an alien nation. An alien nation with many enemies, might I add. Go figure something like that would fall into our little laps.

"How about you just come inside with me?" Craig suggested with a cock of his head. "It's not like your parents are waiting up for you or anything."

That was true. My parents definitely wouldn't be worried if I just happened to not notice the time. Besides, we left off on a rather intense chase scene, and I was more than eager to see how we'd get out of this one. I passed over the orphaned princess to his arms, trusting, but weary, before we both slipped into his living room and shut the door behind us.

"Do you want to go back to mars," Craig began as we made our way through the living room, "or do you want to leave the Milky Way?"

I pressed my finger against my chin in thought while trailing along behind him. "Lets go back to Bob's planet, we still need to find the queen..."

"Okay, but how will we get past the soldiers? They're everywhere."

We walked quietly through the living room as I searched my mind for an answer, but a sharp, loud noise broke off my concentration and left me startled. There was a loud ruckus resonating from somewhere inside the house, one that made us both stop a moment to figure out what it was. It sounded like there were elephants hidden somewhere nearby, 'cause I felt vibrations through the loose floorboards under the carpet. Yelling soon followed, though. Yelling that could definitely not have been made by an elephant, although Craig seemed completely oblivious to the muffled, yet frightening sounds. As we walked past the kitchen, the screaming became clearer. A woman and a man had been arguing back and forth. The voices were familiar to me, although the anger and gravel accompanying the ruckus made them sound so different I'd hardly recognized them.

"Uh-eh," I muttered in fear, clinging tightly to Craig's side as we walked right past the raging battle. I saw them in the kitchen. Some dark object soared across the room as Mr. Tucker ducked, the pan his wife had chucked just barely swiping across the top of his bright red hair before crashing against the cabinet behind him.

More yelling followed, Mrs. Tucker's finger pointing at her husband. "How many times have I told you to stay away from that whore?" She cried out, tears streaming down her face in a way I'd never seen before. Her makeup was gone, making her eyes look sunken and red from all the crying she'd been doing.

I didn't hear much else because Craig just kept on walking as if he'd heard nothing. It was like he didn't even notice the nuclear bombs going off in the very next room, as if the screaming was just so usual that it'd become nothing but background noise to him. I held fast to my unfeeling friend, fleeing from the defining sounds to the staircase that lead to his bedroom. We reached the very top of the steps, me still fastened to his side, when Craig came to a halt. The screaming still echoed through the living room, up the staircase, down the hall. I couldn't make out the words anymore, but that didn't make it any less gut-wrenching.

I looked to our left to find the form of a small girl sitting bunched up and crumpled against the wall. She looked up at us through the haze of her eyes, dull and torn looking as her sky gaze wavered. Her red hair was up in piggy tails. Little green marbles on strings held the locks together as her sock-covered feet slid against one another. The dullness in her eyes did not change as her and her brother exchanged a look, her hand reaching out in an attempt at solace. He reached out as well. They were both emotionless, numb, as their small fingers interlaced. A feeling of mutual misery settled like dust between the two when they'd held fast to one another.

I was so confused, so bewildered. I walked in for a few extra hours of playtime, and unwittingly marched right into a war. The house might as well been falling down around us. At least that's what I remember it feeling like as those frightening vibrations rumbled up from the kitchen and assaulted the bottoms of my tiny feet. I'd never seen Mrs. Tucker look so infuriated. Malice was plastered onto her face as she launched kitchenware across the room in a fit of rage, bad words flying out of her mouth. She was aiming right at him, too- right at his head.

Craig lead the both of us into the safety of his room, Ruby shutting the door behind us before making her way over to the closet. She was following a rehearsed path like a school girl during a fire alarm, movements robotic like she knew exactly where to go in a time like this.

"Is there still snacks?" she asked with a whisper, her voice slurring as most six year olds do. The question seemed so bored, and I wondered if I was the only one how could hear the bloodcurdling screams rising up through the cracks in the floor. Her small hand gripped the handle before pulling the door apart from the wall, making me shiver in fear at the blackness peeking out from behind it.

"I think there's cakes in there still." He shrugs just as nonchalantly, walking towards the dark cavern that was his bedroom closet. Our little baby alien was tucked against his chest as he made his way, and I immediately let out a horrified squall.

"Ugh! C-Craig! Don't go in there! Especially not with Bob!" My screeching lowered to a quiet whisper, trying to hide my voice from anything that might have been listening. "The... the monsters will get you."

"There aren't monsters in closets. I told you, 'member?"

"B-but I saw one!" I reasoned, shaking in fear. "T-they're like the gnomes, man! I saw!"

My friend gave me a sympathetic look. "Saw," he repeated quietly.

He was always a robot parrot.

"Aw, Tweek, don' be scared," the girl in piggy tails coaxed softly. Her tone was a gentle one that reminded me of the way her mother cooed when I would get afraid. "We've got a flashlight, monsters are scared of those!"

"What?! They are?!"

"Mn'hm, ma told me so," the child explained before reaching up on a shelf beside the door. "Look, see."

She pressed on a round black button with a click, a white beam of light shining from the mouth of the device before she pointed it into Craig's closet. The darkness was gone, the bright light cutting through it effortlessly. "The monsters are gone now, see? They got scared and ran away. Here, you try, Tweek!"

I took the flashlight, tightening my hand around the grip before peeking into Craig's closet. It didn't really look so scary in there anymore, and I didn't see the supposed monster that had left me traumatized. Still, I wasn't completely convinced.

That's when another series of loud crashes came from the kitchen, sounding much like glass spontaneously bursting out of windows. Both Ruby and I jerked around, looking at Craig with frightened and lost gazes. He hurriedly coaxed the both of us inside the small space of his closet before closing the door tight. He sat down up against the far wall, me on his left arm, Ruby on his right, and little baby Bob laying out in his lap.

His closet was actually surprisingly roomy for how much stuff he had in there. I'd never been inside it before that night. Shirts and other clothes hung from a metal rod above our heads, and little piles of boxes and retired garments were stacked up in piles. There was also a thin blanket on the floor beside me, accompanied by a couple of pillows and a very small stash of snack foods.

I sometimes wonder how often they felt unsafe enough to sleep there.

"Shh," he quietly uttered when Ruby let out a breath of a noise, her arms locked tightly around her older brother's larger one. "If you're too loud, I can't hear the aliens."

"Gah! Aliens? Oh Jesus!" I wailed against his orders. "Where are they?! What do they want with us?!"

"They don't even know we're here," he assured me, shining eyes looking down at my cowering form in the faint lighting provided by my flashlight. "All we have to do is hide in the shuttle and they'll pass right over us. They always do."

We all remained quiet for quite some time, listening closely to the racket below. I have no idea how long we sat there in his closet, hunkered into a tight ball of frightened children, but it felt like an eternity. I nestled up under his arm, and Ruby's big blue eyes scanned the dark corners of the room as she gripped her older brother in anxiety. Her line of sight wandered to the thing in Craig's lap, and she got a concerned look to her.

"What about Bob?" she asked. "She's a baby, she needs baby stuff... Like a bottle, right? A baby can't go all night without one of them."

I stared down at the little creature long and hard before muttering. "Yeah, s-she'll starve to death!"

"Well, I'm a boy! I don't have baby stuff," Craig reminded us.

"I do," the little girl beside him said with a big grin, showing off gaps where baby teeth had fallen out. "In my bedroom I have a crib, and a bottle, and diapers, and clothes- I have all kinds."

"Yes, but your room is down the hall," he reasons. "If we leave the shuttle the aliens could get us."

"But what about Bob?" I demanded, sounding more and more like a disgruntled mother the more I spoke. "She's a baby, Craig, and we never fed her anything before, ever! What kind of parents are we?! What if she really is starving?!"

"Ugh," he groaned. "Fine, fine... We'll retrieve the supplies. The only question is which spaceman would be best for this mission."

"Ahem."

"... or spacegirl."

"Thank you."

"Ruby needs to go! She knows where it is," I suggested, hugging myself around my legs as my flashlight scanned the ceiling.

"Are you crazy? She's a girl. She can't go by herself."

"Yes I can!" the young child gasped. "Girls can do whatever boys can do!"

"Can not," Craig argued. "Lets see a girl win a wrestling match, or fix a car."

Just before Ruby was about to open her mouth, another long series of indistinguishable noises bellowed up from the room below us. I jumped, Ruby froze, and Craig grasped us close to his sides.

"... Okay... We all should go," he decided. "Safer in numbers, right?"

"Ugh! But we don't have weapons or anything! How are we supposed to fight aliens without laser guns?" I was horrified by that point, tugging furiously at my hair.

"Pfft, a good space captain always has a gun, Spaceman Tweek."

Craig stood up from his spot beside me, handing over our precious baby Bob before he began rummaging through a few piles of nothing in particular. He tossed old articles of clothing throughout the tiny space as he searched, and Ruby let out a horrified noise of disgust when a pair of his boxers landed at her feet.

"Aha!" he rejoiced before yanking a rather large piece of plastic out of the pile. He turned, the weapon letting out a click as he jerked the slide back, letting us know it was loaded.

"Holy shit! Don't aim that thing at us, man!" I screeched in fear. "You'll kill somebody!"

He shook his head before quickly explaining that he was a trained professional. Which, obviously, he wasn't. Still, we crept out of our space shuttle, Craig leading the pack with his laser gun drawn. It was still pretty bright out, but we could faintly make out large stars dotting the sky of the uncharted planet. We walked over grass that was the oddest shade of blue, the short blades much softer than any grass I'd ever seen. All seemed just fine until we crept out through some shrubs into a long, narrow clearing of the planet's thick foliage. The aliens. We could hear their war raging on from somewhere nearby. Usually, two brave spacemen like us would be quick to jump into the battle ourselves, but not then. It was a war we weren't meant to fight.

Craig kept his gun drawn. He pointed it towards a place where the trees grew weak and split off from their trunks, leaving an opening in the wall of plant life.

"Stay here," he ordered. "I'll survey the area."

We obeyed, pressing ourselves up against said wall as our captain peeked around the corner. He kept his weapon up and ready, back against the bark of a tree with his trusty laser gun gripped in his fingers. After a thorough visual inspection, he seemed satisfied, but still untrusting.

"The coast is clear. Go, go, go!"

"Nrg!" I yelped before me and the young girl skittered down the path as fast as we could manage. Craig was behind us at that point, walking backwards with the business end of his gun locked onto the suspicious break in the plants.

"We're almost there," Ruby uttered, taking a hold on my twitching fingers. She pulled me onward so fast that I was tripping over my feet, and landed quite pitifully to the ground when she'd stopped to open a door. It was nestled into the vegetation so tactfully I wouldn't have even known it was there if she hadn't pushed aside some pieces of vine.

The door creaked open, revealing a room of bright colors... and... unicorns, apparently, considering it was littered with the things. What can I say? It was Ruby's room, and she was a typical little girl in that aspect.

Craig stayed right behind us, guarding the door as she ran inside to collect the goods. I stood in the doorway, too, although the only thing I was good for was muttering nervously and yelping every time I thought I saw movement.

"Hurry up in there, Rube," Craig barked, urgency bleeding through his words. "I think they're getting louder!"

"Ah! I... I need a little help. It's too heavy," she replied in a loud whisper.

"Ugh!" I blurted before stumbling into the doorway and over to her. She had a little wooden crib in her arms, struggling to pull the thing up off the ground because of all the baby stuff she'd piled inside of it. "We don't need all of that, do we?"

"How come you boys are always so dumb about babies?" she murmured before letting the wooden structure fall back onto the floor. "Just help me, hurry!"

I grabbed the other end of the crib with a jerk and a yelp, and then retreated. We jogged as quickly as we could without losing any of our supplies, my nervous twitching not at all helping us reach our goal. Craig was leading the pack, an armed escort that was determined to see us back to our shuttle safe and sound. We did make it, eventually. I ended up heaving the crib into the shuttle and nose diving after it like a dolphin. Brother and sister laughed at my desperate display, Craig shaking his head with puffs of breath passing around his braces. I always loved when I got to see him smile, considering he was too embarrassed of the gear on his pearly whites to let the world see his lips part any farther than a few millimeters.

He was always more self-conscious than he likes to admit.

"Don't just stand out there! Aliens, man!" I cried, flailing my arms from inside the small space.

They stepped into the ship, closing the hatch behind them before I scrambled for my flashlight.

"Okay. Good work, crew... now what do we do with all this stuff?"

Again, the youngest child rolled her eyes with a sigh. "Fist we gotta put up her crib."

"Um..." I uttered weakly, running my fingers through my hair. "It'd look good in the c-corner there."

"Yeah! It would!" Ruby rejoiced.

Craig sat beside me against the hatch, watching his sister with mild discontent. I, however, was quite enthralled with the idea of turning her elder brother's closet into a baby alien nursery. She shoved some things aside before nestling the little wooden crib in the corner of my choice, and my eyebrows rose with interest when she yanked a baby bag out of said crib. It came apart at the top with Velcro, and her hands soon emerged with a baby bottle.

"Okay, who's the mommy?"

"... What?" Craig asked as if the question was completely absurd.

"A baby needs a mommy to feed it a bottle. Don't boys know anything?" she questioned with a puff. "Me and Bob can be the kids, and you and Tweek can be the ma and pa."

"We're playing spaceman, Ruby. Not house," he snarled. "Besides, we're both boys. Boys can't get married to each other. Gross."

"Okay, then. Me and Tweek can get married and have the baby, and you can just be the dog or something."

Craig's face twisted in what I can only describe as anger, their little disagreement causing him to completely forget his spaceman argument. "You can't get married to Tweek. He's my best friend."

"Well we can't get married! You're my brother!" She retorted with an equally as disgusted look. "So one of us has to marry Tweek."

"Pressure!"

He looked so conflicted after soaking that in, too stubborn to take me as a groom and too selfish to let his little sister have what he supposedly didn't want. Deciding that I had enough with their dispute, I picked Bob up from her spot beside me and gently squeezed her in my arms. I then crawled over on my knees before the crib while Craig struggled to make up his mind. I pulled back the pink blanket inside, laid my baby alien comfortably into her new, fluffy bed, and then gently tucked her in. I was fixing the tiny pillow under her head when I decided to help him with his decision.

"I... I kinda wanna play house," I admitted. Playing it with Craig and Ruby sounded like a lot of fun, a lot more fun than it was when Red held me captive and forced me into matrimony in fifth grade.

He looked at me for a long moment. I looked back. Our big, round, little kid eyes were scanning for sentences and words in the features of each others' faces, seemingly holding an entire conversation even though we never spoke.

Craig Tweek Telepathy at it's finest.

He soon shook his head in defeat. "...Fine, but we're still playing in space, so it's called spaceman, not house."

I nodded with a smile at the compromise, and he crawled over to the crib on his hands and knees. He peered in with the tilt of his head, looking genuinely curious with what's happening inside.

"She's cute," he announced, although I caught embarrassment in his tone.

"Shh," I hushed, pressing my finger to my lips just as I'd seen Mrs. Tucker do. "She's asleep."

"Oh, sorry," he whispered, making a bit of a face as he sat back on his feet.

Craig was probably one of the cutest things I've ever seen when he was small and bashful. He was a bit chubby with a round face and a soft belly, nothing at all like the massive, fearsome creature he is now. His little head tilts were about ten thousand times more adorable before he started working out and growing stubble, too, but I think they're all that's left of the sweet little spaceman I was so smitten with.

We continued on with our adorable little household, reorganizing his closet to better suit the needs of a small gray child and Ruby's taste. Sadly, though, our play ended prematurely with a loud and ferocious sounding bang. Craig dropped a baby bottle to the floor in the wake of the boom. I clutched our baby to my chest as little Ruby's eyes grew wide like saucers. Our breath was caught in our throats as we all exchanged glances. When we finally gained the courage to peek out of his closet door, his bedroom was engulfed in pitch black. We could only see the twinkling stars I'd given to him, and the whole house was eerily silent.

"I'm scared," Ruby admitted as she stared into the blackness.

"Don't be," Craig coaxed. "Me and Tweek are space adventurers. You don't have anything to be scared of with us around. Right, Tweek?"

"Eep!" I let out a high pitched and horrified squeak.

"... Okay, well you have me anyway."

She nodded a bit hesitantly, but followed Craig and I out of the closet nonetheless. Only the quiet greeted us as we stepped out of his room and into the darkened hallway. Floorboards creaked softly underneath our feet as we moved through the narrow corridor, Craig nearly tripping down the steps as he didn't feel the drop beneath his foot. Luckily, he caught himself, and we all continued on with our mouths zipped closed.

Silent. Everything was so deafeningly silent.

A soft glow poured from the kitchen doorway. I could see it spilling out over the living room carpet with a faint yellow color as we carefully tiptoed down the staircase. There was the quiet sound of sobbing, sounding almost disembodied as the choked whimpers bounced off the walls of hallowed rooms. Three little heads peeked past the corner, worried and afraid as their differing colors scanned the illuminated chamber of a kitchen. I remember specifically seeing a curtain of blond falling over and around the then-young woman sobbing at the table. Her face was hidden in her hands, tears surly soaking through to their bones as the side door remained ajar. Her surroundings were broken up and disheveled. Pots and pans had fallen from a rack, and a few dishes laid to waste in pieces on the floor. It was a gut wrenching sight, especially since I'd never witnessed such misery in anyone before.

Anyone but myself.

...

Empty.

Everything is empty.

My house is empty, my brain is empty, and my chest is empty. I'm pretty sure my heart isn't in there anymore, and if it is it must've stopped beating. I can't feel it pounding against my ribs, even though I've been sitting here in the kitchen for half an hour listening for that strong and steady thump, thump, thump. It's no use. It isn't in there. It was an hour ago when Token and Clyde dropped me off after school. It was thumping real hard then, considering the little crow that was resting in my hands. Still, happiness that was gained with paper was taken by paper.

I didn't know what it was at first when I discovered it sticking out of the inside pocket of his jacket. I figured it was something insignificant, like scraps of notes he's stuffed in there last minute and forgot about. I noticed something odd about it, though, before I could manage to toss the thick, folded square of notebook paper into the garbage.

It had a word written on it in big, purple, bubble letters.

I unfolded it halfway, just enough to read his name. It was so pretty. A few little multicolored hearts dotted the page around the fanciful lettering, as if only to reassure me how much effort went into it.

I didn't want to open it.

I knew nothing good could ever come from doing that, but this nagging curiosity tugged at me too badly to throw it away. I sat it down on my kitchen table, and it just sat there, mocking me silently as I stared intently. Come open me, it said as I leaned in closer to see if I could see any words peaking out of the sloppy folds. You know you want to.

Okay, maybe I did want to, but the last time curiosity got the best of me it didn't end so well. I didn't want Craig to ever get mad at me again like he did when I eavesdropped on him and Bebe.

Whatever happens between him and his girlfriend is none of my business, just like whatever happens between Craig and I is none of hers.

There's something really juicy in here, Tweek, you know you wanna read me~

Then again...

I peeked around the room to make sure I wasn't being set up. For all I knew it could have been some kind of ploy. Craig could have planted it in his jacket and been hiding somewhere in my house just watching me, waiting to see if I'd go for the bait and fall right into his master plan. Craig can be dumb sometimes, but other times he can be really smart.

"C-Craig? I know you're watching me!" I shouted into my empty house.

Nothing.

Felling a bit more comfortable, I reached out with the end of a fork and pulled the paper towards me like it was diseased. I then picked it open with a couple more pieces of silverware so that I wouldn't leave any fingerprints. The less evidence the better.

I wish I had a time machine so I could go back half an hour and tell my past self that I shouldn't have done that, then maybe he'd be too busy screaming about there being two of him to remember the letter even existed.

I look around to make sure there aren't two of me.

Anyway, when I finally picked the paper open the first thing I realized was that it was just as colorful and neat on the inside as it was on the outside. Her handwriting adorned each little blue line perfectly, so neat and flawless that I almost mistook it for computer font. It was written entirely with a multicolored, glittery gel pen.

I frowned at the realization that the letter she made for Craig looked prettier than the song I wrote for him.

Then, I actually made the mistake of reading what she'd written on those little blue lines.

Craig, was all she'd put at the top left hand corner, a comforting and familiar name that only left my stomach churning.

I know that both of us can be bad with words when it comes to things like feelings. That's why I wanted to try and write out a few for you. That way you'll always remember how important you are to me, even though I don't always say it.

It was only the beginning of the letter, and I already had to take a moment to stop and keep my sanity in check.

I can still remember the first real conversation we had sophomore year. It's crazy to think about how long ago that seems, and how even the air you breathed annoyed the living piss out of me. We hated each other so much back then, and if somebody would have told me I'd end up falling for such a callous asshole I would have told them they were insane. Well, it turns out I was the one who's insane, considering that's exactly what I did.

Yeah, I'm about to get all sappy on you.

It's weird to look back on that, isn't it? To think about how someone who meant nothing could somehow become everything. How the little things I never noticed before became the things I can't wait to see again, like that concentrated look on your face when you play guitar, that sound you make when you're trying too hard not to laugh, or the way it feels when you touch my cheeks with your knuckles.

Those moments were mine. Watching him strum on his guitar with that far off look in his eyes, hearing those quiet little puffs, and feeling the rough hills of the back of his fingers affectionately rubbing my cheeks; those memories belonged to me. They were sweet, treasured moments when I got to see the obscure corners of his soul that no one else was familiar with. It made me feel important to him. It made me feel special, especially when he'd caress my face so delicately.

I don't feel special anymore.

Maybe it's not really all that weird. Maybe I'm just over thinking things like you always say. The past doesn't really matter, anyway. What does matter is right now.

I'm in love with you, Craig. I want to always be in love with you, and I want to always be with you. A year together might not be long enough to start thinking about serious things like the future. Things like marriage and everything else that comes with it, but I can't help it sometimes. It makes me feel safe. It makes me feel good to know someone who's so hateful and untrusting to the rest of the world could find some softness in his heart for me.

Those were my thoughts.

The same exact ones that ran through my mind when he'd held me in the park and tried to protect me from the rain, when I'd felt his stubble rubbing my skin as he placed gentle kisses on the insides of my thighs. Those thoughts and memories are the only things that are mine. She already has everything else, she can't have those, too.

That wasn't the worst of it, though. That wasn't what ultimately left me as this shaking, infuriated mess. What did was written at the very bottom in pencil. The sloppy handwriting wasn't hard to identify, and the four words written there gave he the strongest urge to vomit.

I feel the same.

He feels the same...

My cheeks were wet, they're still wet, although I don't remember exactly when the tears started. It might have been when I realized I wasn't special, or maybe when I finally understood that absolutely nothing of him truly belongs to me.

Maybe I was crying through the whole thing.

I hadn't even felt them slipping down my face, or realized they were there until little clear droplets started seeping into the pretty ink.

He wants to marry her.

There it is. My heart. I can feel it pounding in my chest again, so hard that it's thumping against my ribs almost painfully. My head starts swimming, like I've just been dropped down into an endless vat of water. I try to suck in a breath of air, but my lungs are still left with no oxygen.

My breathing exorcises. I have to breathe. What the fuck was that poem about; south and noses or something?

He's with her right now, in her room, in her bed. What if he's letting her touch him? I bet he is. I bet he's hanging out of the front of his jeans, throbbing as those pretty manicured hands work magic that my clumsy, awkward grip never could.

No. No, no, no. That's mine. It's mine. She can't touch it!

She is anyway, though. She's massaging what's mine as his finger wander to places they never should have gone. They're the same scarred fingers I made better with rainbow band aids.

Don't do it... Don't touch her the way you do me.

"Ah! Don't!" I desperately beg the silence of my kitchen. My skull comes crashing down against the table. A loud and mind numbing crack resonates throughout the room as the wooden structure shakes violently. My fingers twitch and my crooked teeth show when I feel the pleasurable sting.

"Unng! I-I want out!" My voice wavers and sways, hands coming up to rip at clumps of messy blond hair as I sob against the slick tabletop. "I want out!"

Crack!

"It's too much. This is too much fucking p-pressure!"

Crack!

Choked and strangled screams gurgle up from the depth of my throat. It hurts so bad. Everything hurts so bad, both on my insides and on my outsides. It feels good too, though, for them both to match. I lift my aching head up off of the table when my throat starts to go sore. A sharp pain shoots from my forehead where I've yet again managed to bust through some of the pale skin, and a few little smudges of red are staining mom's egg white table cloth. My eyes roll around in their sockets like I've finally knocked my brain loose, at least until they spot something in the doorway. Someone, rather.

My house isn't as empty as I'd thought.

My mother's bob of shining brown hair brushes against her slender shoulders as she idles in the doorway. Her lovely little green dress clings to the curves in her sides as she uses her dainty little hands to tie her apron strings, and despite all the racket I'd been making she's yet to even glance at me. I'm still crying, and rather loudly. The tears break through with desperate sounds that rip their way from my hoarse throat.

How long has she been standing there?

"M-mom," I utter helplessly. My left hand is shakily extended as a desperate plea for her help.

I need a hug more than anything, just a simple embrace to let me know I'm not really as alone as I feel. Moms are supposed to be good at that, giving hugs and kisses and cooing about how everything's going to turn out fine in the end. That's what they do on television. That's what they do at my friend's houses.

That's not what they do here.

She stands there smiling. It's that same wide and perfect grin she always has glued to her face. Her eyes are trained on my trembling hand, but only for a moment before she turns, leaving me abandoned for the kitchen sink. I retract my shaking digits in humiliation and shame, whimpers and muffled cries still finding their way past my lips despite how strongly I'm willing them to go away.

"Mom!"

Don't you feel anything in your heart for me?

I feel like a phantom, invisible and voiceless even though I've been banging on windows and whispering through walls for as long as I can remember. Still, my mother will always walk right through me as if I'm nothing more than air.

Something wet drips down from my hairline, and when I wipe my quivering hand across my face I see a red streak. It's just like the one I had last time I smashed my head, except Craig was there.

He was there to love me and take care of me, just like he always has been.

"We're going to have dinner soon," my mother informs me quite nonchalantly, even though her only child is sitting right behind her wiping tears and blood from his face. "Would you like to join us?"

I don't even dignify such a callous question with a response. I just remain in my chair, legs curled up against my chest as I try to stop from letting out these despicable little whines of agony. That fucking letter is still right in front of me, soggy from my tears, and my mother is right behind me, going on with her rituals as if I'm not crumbling into pieces right behind her. I can hear the little clink, clink, clink, noises as she flips over every fork in the silverware drawer.

She's a liar. I never was her favorite boy.

I'll never be anyone's favorite anything.

Another horrendous sound heaves out of me, and I double over against the table top as I search my brain for my breathing poem. Ah! There was something about a... nose... mouth!

In through your nose,

out through your mouth.

I struggle to follow through with my therapist's techniques. Said orifice is too busy making those disgusting heaving noises to be used for really anything but, and breathing is barely an exception.

"Should I not make you a plate, then?"

"Gah! J-just leave me the fuck alone!" I immediately snap, not even caring that I just cursed at my mother for the first time in my life. I hold Craig's crow carefully against my chest, and Bebe's letter is clenched dangerously tight in my fist, as I retreat from the kitchen and make a mad dash for the staircase. My room is the only safe place I know, so I scramble up the steps and towards my brightly decorated door.

That dumb little cat with hang in there written under him is the first thing to greet me. Damn Token and his stupid tree-climbing tabby cat. I fidget with the knob, and it takes about five minutes of relentless wailing and one swift kick until the door finally gives in and swings open. I barricade myself inside, locking every door, window, and drawer just to make extra sure nothing can ever get in or hurt me again. I don't ever want to hurt again. I'm still hurting now, though. All because of Bebe and her stupid fucking letter.

This stupid fucking letter.

I drop the crow onto my pillow, and then sit down with the notebook paper in my shaking hands. I collapse into the folds of my comforter, curling up with the paper squeezed between my grubby little fingers. Small red spots begin appearing where I've nestled my face into my pillow, and soon they'll surely be brown stains.

All because of this useless scrap of trash. I take Bebe's painstakingly written love letter between my two balled fists and relentlessly tear away at the thin material. My face is scrunched up horribly as I continue on with my rampage, little tidbits of college ruled paper falling around me like confetti.

I don't consider the painful reminder obliterated until the pieces are all too small to tear up anymore, and I've scraped all of the filth off of Craig's side of the bed and into my trash can. Still, I'm hyperventilating, and I can't follow through with my breathing exorcises.

My bed feels so lonely, and I wonder if I'll always be trapped this way.

I pull my cellphone out of my pocket, staring at the bright screen while I sniffle miserably. I need to feel someone. I need for somebody to make me feel good, like they care about me and why I've been crying. My thumb sweeps over my contact list, and my lips only quiver when I realize just how short it is. There are only six phone numbers, and two of them aren't even people. One of my dead end numbers is for Tweek Bros Coffee, and the other is the weather line for the school. The rest are friends and parents... well, parent. I don't even know my dad's number, not that it matters.

Token, Clyde, mom, and Craig are all that are left.

Oops.

Scratch my mom off that list.

I could always call Clyde. We usually reach out to each other when it comes to our crazy weirdo problems that only other crazy weirdos could understand. What would I say to him, though? I'm infuriated because Craig's girlfriend wants to marry him, and I can't? I'm sure that would go over really well. Plus, Clyde doesn't seem to want me to have any part of him or what he's going through right now. Why should I go to him if he won't come to me?

Then, there's Token... but I don't even want to imagine facing him right now.

That leaves only one number on my very short list of people who acknowledge my existence.

I shouldn't call him. I know where he is. I know that he's busy. I know that the last thing he needs is me bothering him about a heart he doesn't know he's ripped out. There's more to life than Craig Tucker. Token told me so, and somewhere inside I know that it's true. It just didn't used to be this hard to admit it to myself.

I wipe the tears off of my face with a horrid sound vibrating in my vocal cords. Just one call. Just one simple conversation. One sorry attempt at reaching out to the only human being who's ever loved me, and maybe my pain will be numbed.

I need his voice. I need to hear that ever steady and calm source of solace. It's always guided me through my most miserable times. Even back in Jr High, when everyone left us and smashing my head seemed to be the only appropriate response to pain. He stayed up with me so many nights, using me as a little spoon while that groggy voice whispered sweet promises of better days.

I sadly realize that those where the better days...

It's ringing.

I flinch slightly with every sharp noise, little gurgling sounds of displeasure seeping up through the cracks in my strained breath. It just keeps going on and on, my poor little cell phone trying with all it's got to bring me the sound that resonates from his throat.

The ringing stops.

"Hey," I hear a voice finally utter through my speakers.

"Nmh, I-I'm sorry I called you! It's just that, um..." is the first thing that comes flying out of my mouth. I'm absolutely horrified to realize just how apparent it is I'm crying, my voice sounding pitiful and foreign as I suck in snot and shaky breaths. An excuse. I need an excuse. "Token and Clyde want to have a, um, thing th-"

"Yeah, I'm busy..." he grumbles, the nasal in his voice shining through. "If this is mom: fuck off, I'll be home when I get home. If this is Ruby: whatever you're looking for I don't know where it is. If this is Tweek: I'm not dead in a ditch, I promise. Go back to bed, I'll call you when I wake up. To anybody else: ... fuck yourself at the beep or something."

My face morphs miserably when I realize he didn't pick up, and the only taste I'll get of his voice today is some automated message he recorded back in eighth grade.

A little noise comes out of my speakers, letting me know I'm free to leave a message. I stutter and stumble, my lips moving although nothing English is coming out.

"I, um..." I mutter before managing to let a sniffle escape into my receiver. I quickly hang up, and continue my stuttering ramble of nothing.

My brain is so confused right now. Why am I so desperate to be comforted by the very person who turned me into this filthy mess to begin with? I want nothing more than to beat my little fists into his chest and ask him why. Why do you always make me feel like crying? Does it even bother you knowing I'm hurting this way? You have to have some idea of this hole in my chest, since you're the one who put it there.

Why did you kiss me, have sex with me, tell me you had feelings for me, if you're planning on a life with someone else?

Why is there someone else?

I curl into myself, letting all the air out of me before my big eyes fall over his pillow. My fingers spread out over it, feeling the soft fabric before bumping against his unfolded crow. My eyelids slide down until I see only blackness, and try to steady my erratic breathing so that I might relax. I have to force this feeling out of my mind, or else I'm going to end up running head first into a wall.

Relax. Just because he told her that he felt the same doesn't mean they're going to get married. It doesn't mean that he doesn't love me me, either. I know he does. I know he loves me.

Just... breathe.

...

I jerk out of sleep, heart pumping fiercely in my shock as a high pitched noise squalls relentlessly through my dimly lit room. God, it's so dark. How long have I been sleeping?

I reach for the small device ringing under my blankets, not even bothering to look at the name lighting up my screen before answering groggily.

"Mhn, hello?"

"Hey..." It's his voice. His real voice, and not the high pitched, obnoxious eighth grader who impassively informed me that he wasn't dead in a ditch earlier. I can hear him fiddling with his cell phone as he gets comfortable. "You called..."

"Ah! Yeah, eh..." comes the shaky reply. My tongue is too tied and groggy to form complete sentences. "Um... Clyde and Token want to get together and finish, ah, decorations this weekend. They wanna watch movies... Um, I thought I'd tell you..."

"...Okay," he mutters, his voice sounding confused and quiet. "... Is that it?"

"H-huh?" I roll around on my mattress for a second in a sad attempt to wake myself up, getting my legs caught and tangled up in my blankets.

" ... I thought something was wrong."

"Um! No, no," I lie, my eyes shooting back and forth as I now fight to get my legs untangled from my bedding. "Nothing's wrong, I was just um... eh. I think I got in a fight with my mom... I mean, I think I was the only one fighting, but..."

"Fighting," he mimics quietly, but luckily doesn't bother asking me what our one sided conflict was about or how it started.

I don't want to lie to Craig anymore.

"I'm sorry. I didn't want to call 'cause I knew you were busy and all... I guess I just missed you."

He breathes out a puff of air, the same way he always does when he wants to laugh. "...You just saw me today," he reasons as his voice grows quieter.

"That was too long ago." I tug loosely at my wild mane, fighting the urge to slip back into sleep. I'm so tired. "I... I just get nervous, you know? Ugh, I get too nervous about too many stupid things and I d-... I just want you here."

That was real slick, there, Tweek. You shouldn't talk on the phone while half asleep, it makes you sound like a bumbling idiot.

"...I know you do," he utters tenderly, his raspy sound getting softer and softer like he's afraid someone might hear. Like she might hear. "I'll be with you this weekend. Remember?"

I frown, tugging anxiously at some strings hanging off of my pillow case. "You'll... still be there when I wake up this time, right? Like... Ugh. In the morning?"

I hear his sausage fingers fiddling with his little cell phone for a moment. "... Yeah."

"P-promise?..."

"... I promise."

A contented grin comes to my face, and I wiggle comfortably into my thick sheets. The line goes completely silent between us, with only the sound of me clearing my throat breaking through.

"My bed still smells like you," I say nonchalantly, taking a strong whiff of the fabric as I try to spark his interest. It's hard to talk on the phone with Craig. Just like speaking face to face, he doesn't usually say too much.

"Does it?" he's really quiet now, his voice becoming little more than a hoarse whisper the more intimate our conversation becomes.

"Mnhm." I smile. "It smells good."

He lets out a low grumble of a chuckle. "You smell good, too."

"I do?"

"It's your shampoo, I think." He's muttering almost as if he's talking to himself. "It's like rain..."

Once he's trailed off into silence I realize he was mumbling from embarrassment. The smile won't leave my face now, though. My smell reminds him of rain? I've never had anyone tell me something like that before, and it's somehow reassuring to know I'm not the only one of us who cherishes the lingering scent of the other.

"... You have to borrow my blue jacket now," he deadpans.

"Wha? Why?"

"So I'll have something that smells like you again... since you're keeping my black one."

My cheeks change to a slight crimson color, and my eyebrows furrow together. It isn't usual to hear Craig say things like that. It's not usual to hear him say any of the things he's been saying.

"You w-want me to borrow a jacket... Just so it will smell like me?" I ask in complete disbelief, the tone in my voice making it more than obvious I think he's just trying to be slick.

"... Yeah," he confesses quietly, that one word laced with so much shame it almost makes me feel bad. It leaves my cocked grin fading into a thin line, twitching a bit when he continues. "Unless that's... crossing a line."

"Huh? No. That's... actually really sweet, Craig."

I can hear him clear his throat for a moment, and I imagine his face is going red, even though it probably isn't. However, something interrupts our little moment from the other line. It's a conversation that sounds like it's being held from a distance, considering Craig pipes up quite a bit to reply. He hollers, but he's muffled, like his hand is over the receiver.

She's probably asking him where he is, since he's surly hidden somewhere to keep her from hearing his sweet and intimate whispers. When he returns, he clears his throat once more.

"It's hard to talk like this right now."

"O-oh... So you... Gotta go?"

"Yeah... I'll text you, Sunshine."

"Mmnh, okay..."

That's it. My phone is beeping at me to let me know he's gone.

Sunshine. That's what's mine. That endearing nickname he gave just to me. Better. I feel a little better, a little fuller. His unfolded crow is in my hands when I stand back up from the bed, and I kick the trash can containing Bebe's dismantled letter as I make my way to my dresser. My memory board is still sitting on top of it, leaning back against the wall with vibrant and happy pictures of me and my friends. Little paper keepsakes litter the thing, like a sticky note Clyde gave me in sixth grade, and an A+ paper Token helped me study for. I pick a thumb tack up off of the dresser, and, after positioning Craig's black paper against the board, I press the pin through it.

One day, I will be his favorite.

...

"Wait so your name really is 'Tweek Tweak'? I always thought everybody just called you by your last name all the time," Kenny says with a bit of an amused laugh, his fingers pressing down on the strings of his guitar. Light streams in from the art room window, setting our square table of four aglow with the light of the sun. I want to smile, remembering that I've been compared to it's likeness.

"Ugh! No!" I blurt instead, tugging nervously at my hair. "My parents are just assholes."

"Why? Because they gave you the same first name as your last name?" Kyle asks.

"Bu- Eh! No! My first name is spelled with two 'e's instead of an 'ea'. They named me after their fucking coffee shop, man. Tweek Bros!" I tug nervously at my hair. "W-who the fuck does that? Parents are supposed to get all excited about naming their baby and have all kinds of ideas and st-stuff, but my parents hadn't even thought about it until I was already here, like- s-shit, man."

"Wait, so what's your middle name?" I think It's Kenny who just asked me that, but I'm too preoccupied with tugging on my hair to try and tell their voices apart. They seem to mold into the same noise anyway, considering they're constantly either finishing or interrupting each other's sentences.

"I-I don't know! I don't think I even have one! It's just Tweek Tweak. My name sounds like a brain damaged bird or something!"

"Haha, aw. Tweek Tweak, Tweek Tweak." Kenny chirps out my name as if he is indeed a brain dead bird, plucking randomly at his guitar strings to add to the effect.

"You guys are funny," Kyle puffs out a few chuckles. His eyes are so heavy they're barely keeping open, and his head keeps drooping forward in his drowsiness. "Tweek Tweak, like a bird tweet. That's cute. Your name is cute."

"You need to nap," Kenny replies to his friend, patting the redhead's unruly curls gingerly. "Sleepy sleeps."

"Mmm~," Kyle groans in response, his head almost immediately falling forward and thumping against his math homework. It's not just normal math like algebra and geometry, but fancy like calculus or something... math related. Token takes that fancy math-for-smart-people class, too, but I haven't paid much attention to it. Just looking at the scrap paper he uses for figuring is enough to make my head swim.

"Why is he so sleepy?" My question is directed at Kenny, even though my wide eyes are locked onto the puffy red mop Kyle is hiding under.

"Trigonometry," said redhead whines. "All I can see are triangles everywhere."

"You should get that looked at, bro," Clyde chuckles from the right of me.

Kyle responds with an irritated whine.

"Why are you studying so hard, anyways? You're already the kid with the highest grades in class," Clyde ponders.

"No, I'm not!" Kyle argues, his voice sounding weird because his face is still smashed against his textbook. "Token almost has a perfect score in every class he's in this year. There's no way I'll be valedictorian if I don't beat his grade in trig!"

Kenny pats his companion's back reassuringly. "Don't stress, dude. You're the smartest guy I know! Besides, if you don't get valedictorian you'll get to be, um... saluda-... sola..."

"Salutatorian," Kyle mutters to help Kenny find his words, "and I didn't spend my whole life dedicated to my grades to become second best. I just don't get why that guy's always ahead of me. What does he have that I don't?"

"Large sums of money?" Kenny inquires.

"Devilishly good looks?" Clyde pipes in, bouncing his eyebrows up and down.

"U-ugh! B-better grades!" I finish off.

Kyle covers his ears. "Thanks a lot you guys, that's definitely helping my self esteem. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to hide under this rock."

He flips over his thick trigonometry textbook, and then slides his head up underneath it in shame. The heavy paper weighs down his almost-afro, but the book merely molds against unbelievably resilient hair.

"That's not a rock," I declare, giggling a bit like a lunatic when a pair of apple green eyes peek up at me from under the hard cover.

"Is so," he argues. "It's just made of paper... and has words on it. It's a very fancy rock, okay."

"Kyle's too cool for normal rocks. When will you people understand?" Kenny laughs out, hands resting on the old, warped wood of his guitar. The poor thing looks just as down-and-out as it's owner does.

Kyle merely lets out a sigh, and then crosses his arms underneath his head, which is still being sheltered my his textbook. He looks like a little house.

I decide to draw Kyle as a house.

"Hey," Clyde says rather excitedly. "Are you guys coming to Token's Halloween party this year? It'd be awesome if you showed up."

"Hm," Kenny lets out with a pointer finger pressing against his chin. "What do you think, Ky?"

"Ugh, just for that rich kid to rub all his fancy stuff in my face? I don't think so."

"Oh, well... You're coming, though, right?" Clyde turns to the blond as I struggle to make the lines required for Kyle's roof. Despite the issue I'm having with keeping my hand steady, I like how it's turning out.

Kenny shrugs, eyes falling back onto his companion. "I don't know, man, looks like me and the old lady are already in the doghouse so..."

"I'm not your 'old lady' and there's no doghouse," Kyle argues. "If you want to go without me, go right ahead."

"See," Kenny says to Clyde and I, "this is what most men call a trap."

"Stop talking like we're married, dude!" The frustrated tone in Kyle's voice actually throws me off guard, and I immediately attempt -unsuccessfully- to hide behind my paper in fear.

Said McCormick frowns, light colored eyebrows knitting together to form a bit of a hurt expression. "I was only messing around..."

"Ugh... I know." He comes out from under his textbook with a hesitant sigh, making me frown deeply when I realize I don't have a reference for my Kyle-house anymore. "I'm sorry, I've just been stressed out over this trig... and... psh."

"Go back under t-the book, please?" I almost whisper.

"It's only the beginning of the year," Clyde pipes over me with a smile. "You don't want to spend your whole senior year stressing and never having any fun. Listen, you don't have to come to the party if you don't want to, but everybody will be there! Hell, even Craig and Tweek show up! We all need some time to unwind with friends, right?"

I give Clyde a weird look when I hear our names come out of his mouth. Again, I try to politely interrupt. "U-um... I was drawing y-"

Kyle's eyes waver. "Yeah... I guess so..."

"We don't have to mingle if you don't want to," Kenny says while stretching out over our table, my face only contorting more and more with frustration. "It's cool if me, you, and Butters just go to watch movies and stuff, you know?"

"G-go back under the book, please!"

Everyone at the table immediately turns their attention to me in bewilderment at my outburst. I twitch horribly, yanking at my collar like I'm suddenly experiencing a hot flash. "I! GAH! P-pressure! I was... drawing you! Under your book! Eek, s-sorry..."

"Oh, you're fine," Kyle lets out rather nonchalantly. He lifts his textbook back up, opening it to a random page before balancing it atop his fluffy head. Then, he presses his chin back into the table.

"So yeah," he continues quite casually despite his awkward position. "If both you and Butters want to go, I'll probably end up coming along anyway. Why even fight it?"

As I continue on with my drawing, I decide that I definitely like Kyle.

"Giving into peer pressure! That's the spirit, Ky!" the filthy looking boy beside him laughs. "We should plan matching costumes."

"How about no."

"Aw."

My brain starts to drown out their chatter as my tongue sticks out and my pencil moves. Kyle's hair is just turning into a bunch of scribbles. Curls are really hard to draw. Still, he does look rather house-like with that book on his head like that, so I start drawing his eyes as windows. Pretty, fancy windows with curtains that I'll color in green when I get to the special education room. Clyde is drawing, too, just as we should be in art class. Kyle isn't doing art because he only comes here to work on his mural or do homework when whatever class he's really in this period isn't doing anything. He obviously chose the latter option today. Kenny isn't doing any art, either, but that's because he's too preoccupied with being stuck up said redhead's butt. They kind of remind me of myself and my own best friend in that way, (not... literally) but at the same time they don't.

Both pairs of us are so close we seem to function as two perpetual beings rather than four teenage boys. The difference is the line; the metaphorical line that every pair of friends enforces so subconsciously they don't even realize it exists until it's been crossed.

If the line was a physical thing Kenny and Kyle would stand comfortably on their respective sides, only jokingly swatting a hand or two over the barrier for a good giggle. Craig and I... We're different, considering we practically leaped from our assigned sides, tackling each other while stripping ourselves naked, and, in the clutches of wild teenage hormones, rolled around on top of said line until our sex sweat and bare naked asses left it as nothing more than some blur of color where a line used to be.

I'm pretty sure that's a good way to put it...

Stop thinking about Craig.

Clyde's arm begins to move erratically beside me, his fingers holding an eraser like a vise. The pink square is being rubbed so hard against the paper that it's making a horrible sound, and I'm amazed it hasn't spontaneously burst into flames. Ugh! Erasers can make fire, right?

"Slow down! Y-your gonna make us all explode!" I cry out in my disapproval, abandoning my picture for a moment to yank hard on my hair.

"Sorry." Clyde grumbles a bit, wadding up whatever he's just been working on before pulling out a fresh sheet. I sigh shakily, but the bell rings before he even has the chance to start a new picture. My Kyle-house isn't done, either, but I drew enough that I can finish it without staring at him like a freak. The three seated with me collect their things and jump to their feet almost immediately, while I remain seated to frantically stuff all my papers back into my messenger bag.

"D-don't leave me, guys!" I cry out horridly when I realize it's going to be harder than I thought to shove my folder back into it's proper place. I jerk around to scream for them, but let out a startled yelp when I accidentally end up headbutting something soft and orange instead. Startled by the unexpected face-plant, I leap backwards like a frightened cat. My frantic eyes are wide as my fingers clutch the table behind me, and my chest heaves with quick breaths.

"Aw," the blond who's stomach I accidentally just headbutted like a startled ram lets out in amusement. Why Kenny had been leaning up against the back of my seat like that, I have no idea. "He's kinda cute. Can we keep him, Kyle?"

Kyle rolls his eyes, even though he's wearing a grin, before grabbing his friend by the back of his mock-fur trimmed hood and using the thing like a handle to drag him away. Clyde helps me to finish packing my things, and the four of us soon slip out of the art room and into the crowded halls.

Either by instinct or habit, I immediately search through the countless moving bodies for a certain someone, but he doesn't seem to be waiting for us like usual. Instead he's standing across the hall, leaning up against a row of lockers beside his previous classroom. I wave at him with both arms to get his attention, hoping he'll make his way over.

He doesn't.

I tilt my head with furrowed brows, and flail my arms yet again to try to coax him over to me. After no response and a second of weary hesitation, I anxiously part from our small group of four and decide to venture out into the endless river of students to get to him. I quickly falter, getting bumped, pushed, shoved, and ignored as I try to navigate my way through all the bodies. I just want to get to him, but he's watching me from the distance. He's not making any kind of effort to pluck me out of the crowd as he catches glimpses of me struggling through the current.

I wish I wasn't so damn tiny.

After a few almost-panic attacks and quite a few bumps, (some apologetic some not so apologetic) I find myself on the other side of the river. I scurry over to him like I'd just been traumatized, looking up at the giant with unsure eyes. He only moves to gaze down at my pitiful expression, but the far off look he's sporting remains unchanged.

I bring my balled fists to my chest, body swaying side to side before I reach out to shyly clasp his thumb in my twitching fingers.

"Hey, Sunshine," he greets quietly after feeling my grip on him, sharp blue eyes still trained on my trembling form.

"Gah! Su- eh!" Again, I use my free hand to tug at my collar. I really love my new nickname. "Hi, Craig..."

Clyde comes up behind me along with Kenny and Kyle, all three of them apparently having absentmindedly trailed after me through the crowd like a gaggle of ducklings to their mother. They're chatting away until Clyde stops, the other two coming to a sudden still once they've bumped into his back.

"Yo, bro!"

Craig nods his head in acknowledgment of his brother, but his eyes shift unpleasantly to the two behind him. His stone expression wavers a bit with malice at the sight. Everything about his unhappy glare seems foreboding when strangers intrude on the tiny little bubble he keeps around us.

"Um... We'll see you guys later," Kyle wisely mutters before taking a hold of his friend's arm and leading him away from us. He will forever treat his mischievous friend like a mutt on a leash, grabbing a hold of the closest piece of fabric to lead him away from trouble.

His efforts do little to thwart his sly companion's shenanigans.

Kenny puts his his hand to the side of his face, thumb to his ear and pinky to his mouth. "Call me," he mouths as his friend leads him down the hall, left eye winking playfully as a devilish little grin pulls at his mouth.

I laugh at the display, but Craig doesn't seem to think it's as funny as I do. He begins tugging me off in the opposite direction. The killer grip he has on on my hand causes me to stumble and almost lose what's left of my footing. It's kinda hard to keep up when he gets in these brisk, angry walks.

...

Craig's been been so tired recently. Well, we've both been tired, but that's pretty normal for me. I always thought it had something to do with us and the stress that comes along with cheating on a pretty cheerleader with some scrawny little dude who's name sounds like a retarded bird. I'm not sure now, though.

It seems to be a combination of things he doesn't want me to know about- like Clyde. I make a disgruntled face at my paper when I think about all the stupid stuff they don't tell me about. I don't get why everybody wants to treat me like I'm a baby- because I'd worry? What kind of dumb excuse is that?

He's squinting to see the words he's written down in his lyric book, but eventually gives up and lays his head down on the paper, giving into the temptation of sleeping in class. This is a bad decision on his part, considering there's a strict no sleeping rule under the supervision of Mrs. Seizel, and she has rather humiliating means of punishing students who don't follow her rules. Craig's either forgotten or is too tired to care. I can only see one of his eyes peeking up from over the edge of his arm. Pale skin slides down to hide the blue orb, his chest changing it's pattern of rising and falling as he tries to relax.

The teacher doesn't notice him, so I go back to writing down notes like any good little student should. I'll give him a copy, like I do sometimes out of worry, and I'll never see it again, as usual. He sucks in a thick breath, the air puffing in and out of his nose growing more and more shallow as he slips away. I stare at the blue covered lump for a moment, but quickly decide it's best to go back to paying attention to what's happening on the projector. At least one of us needs to make an effort to understand the material, even though government is a hard subject for me to absorb.

Really, every subject is hard for me to absorb. They say that's why I'm in the resource room; 'cause without the special education teachers spoon feeding my brain smart flakes it would have already exploded back when I saw my first algebra equation. Still, one can't land a spot in the appropriately dubbed retard room without being somewhat 'special', right?

Mrs. Seizel switches the notes up on the projector, making me let out a loud noise of panic.

"Ugh! I wasn't done!" I end up yelling before siding my face behind my notebook in shame. "Can you... go back for a minute?"

"Oh, of course," she agrees, swapping the fresh page of notes out with the old ones. Quickly, I scribble down words so wonky I don't know if I'll even be able to read them. When I look up from my paper to let her know I've finished, I realize her eyes are trained on the seat beside mine with a look of disapproval.

She immediately gets up from her seat and moves across the room. I gulp hard and fold into myself as those disgruntled, hazel eyes remain locked on the form of my slumbering friend. After gathering a rather large government text book off of a giggling student's desk, she holds it up in the air beside him. I want to scream and tell her not to do what she's thinking, because it absolutely positively will not turn out in her or Craig's favor. Still, in fear of getting in trouble myself, I remain painfully silent as the book falls from her thick fingers.

It hits the ground with a horrendously loud bang, startling Craig out of his sleep and out of his wits. He jerks upright off of his desk, eyes wider than I've ever seen as they dart around the room. He isn't sure where he is, at least not until he sees a gaggle of peers gawking at him. Everyone laughs at his stunned reaction, and I glare back at the crowd in disgust.

"Go to the front of the class, Craig," Mrs. Seizel orders with a tired sounding sigh, very displeased with her student's lack of attentiveness. Her finger jabs in the direction of the chalkboard, where she forces all groggy kids to stand when they've been caught snoozing.

Craig gives her a mean look, lack of sleep and whatever it is he's been going through making the delinquent's bad attitude rear it's hideous head. "I'm not standing up there," he recoils, nose curling up like he'd just sniffed something rancid. "Not just so all these freaks can stare at me all period."

"Craig, please. I don't have time to put up with your games today. Go to the front of the class or go to the principal's office, it's your choice." She's speaking rather calmly, but it's more than obvious just how fed up she's getting with all the disruptions the two of us tend to stir up.

He doesn't say anything, or even attempt to move from his chair. He just sits there like a cornered dog, head low and eyes glaring up at her like he's about to launch forward and bite. The room is silent as our classmates stare at him. The looks in their eyes say it all; they think he's a time bomb, and they're listening very closely to try and determine how many ticks it takes before he explodes.

He would be making less of a spectacle of himself if he would just do what she asked of him to begin with.

"What's he gonna do?" He denies either option before Mrs. Seizel's usually bright eyes narrow in fury. "Send me to ISR again?"

Having heard enough, the round woman walks back to her big wooden desk and takes a seat before pulling out a little stack of paper. Referral slips, the same thing teachers always use to send him to the principal. As she scribbles out his offense, he lays his head back down on the desk. He looks horribly ill as he brings his hands up to cover his ears. It's quite a pathetic sight to behold, such a fearsome looking beast of a man being brought to his knees by a little pain in his head. It's a migraine for sure, probably because of the loud bang he awoke to.

"Here," she mutters once she's returned to his desk, referral slip held out for him to take.

A deep growl gurgles up from the depths of his throat, less like a dog and more like a demon. Nonetheless, he jerks a hand forward and rips the paper out of her grasp so fiercely she actually stumbles back a bit like she's expecting a fist to slam into her face. It wouldn't be the first time he punched a teacher, but I think he's at least matured a little bit from his seventh grade mindset of everything around me is my personal punching bag. I'm probably the only thing in the world he hasn't lodged a knuckle sandwich into.

They stare at one another like angry animals sizing each other up, but she has enough mind to back away from his desk when the six foot tall ogre rises from his seat with a series of low, annoyed grumbles. I know he's too drained of energy to put up too much of a fight today, but the entire class remains deafly silent. So silent, in fact, I think I may have lost my hearing.

I tap my fingers erratically across my desk to make sure I haven't lost my hearing.

He gives me a sideways glance at hearing my ugly pitter-patter, but it lasts for only a fleeting moment. Realizing his presence isn't wanted, he slumps his head down low, collects his guitar, and then stomps his way over to the classroom door. The heavy oak slab slams loudly in the infuriated wake of the exile, and my body sinks even lower into my seat.

"...That guy's a freaking weirdo," someone from somewhere in the classroom blurts once said weirdo is no longer present to rip them in half in retaliation. I think Mrs. Seizel agrees with her pupil by the look on her face, but, after her eyes lock with my frightened and wavering ones, she decides not to publicly display her obvious distaste in my best friend.

Instead, she defends him.

"Everyone is a freaking weirdo," she explains as her little black shoes click against the tile floor, "but we all have our reasons for being that way."

The lesson continues on as it usually would, but I'm shaking much worse than usual. I'm not really sure why. Sure, it's nerve wracking not having him in class, but most of my classes are Craigless anyways, so it's not because he isn't here. Maybe I'm just worried. I'm always worried when he gets sent to Mr. Greymen's office.

What if he gets detention this time? suspended? Expelled? What if the principal is secretly part of an alien race and he uses unruly kids as experiments for his brainwashing ray guns and anal probes? I'm onto you and your little gray men, Mr. Grey-man. If thatis your real name.

I twitch a bit, as usual, fingers running through greasy blond hair as I heave out a shaky groan.

He's hiding something from me, but I'm not surprised.

Hiding things from Tweek has always been my group's favorite game, and getting in trouble has always seemed to be Craig's.


	10. Us

My feet shuffle quietly against the tile of the hallway floor. They squeak frustratingly loud, but the sound is drowned out by the heavy footsteps and lively voices of other peers. As usual, I end up being banged around quite a bit. I always get ignored and pushed around when Craig isn't with me. Little grumbles of dissatisfaction squeak their way out of my throat, but I'm doing a surprisingly good job of staying calm in the congested halls all by myself. My messenger bag bumps lightly against my hip bone as I change direction, veering away from the endless mass of bodies and disappearing into the senior bathroom. There are a couple guys at the sink when I walk in. They scrub lazily at their hands while chatting amongst themselves. I recognize them, but barely. They're just a couple nameless faces that fade in and out of the background, just like everyone else. When they dry off their hands, I lean up against the white brick wall as if I might blend in enough for them not to notice me.

They do notice the twitchy freak standing by the door, though. I guess I'm kind of hard not to see with what an eye sore I am today. With the combination of my bright red pajama bottoms, humongous knitted sweater, ugly ass crocks, and Craig's jacket draped around me, I look like a five year old who just dressed himself for the first time.

Not a word is spoken to or around me as they leave. Once the door is shut behind them, I drop my bag almost carelessly against the floor. Almost.

Walking up to the sink, I turn on the faucet and let warm water run over my nervously vibrating hands. I notice a small red mark plastered on my head when I anxiously peek at the Tweek in the mirror. I cover it with my pointer finger in disgust and hold it there for a few moments as if the small disfigurement will disappear with enough pressure. Mirror-Tweek mimics me, of course, but the unsightly red line doesn't go away. Upon closer inspection, I realize just how many little bitty marks of slightly raised skin litter my billboard of a forehead. It's nothing too noticeable, but it doesn't exactly help with my less-than-average looks. Huffing, I splash the warm water carefully onto my face, my features scrunching together in slight discomfort.

The bell rings.

I'm late for last period.

Lowly, I groan in irritation before tugging hard on my hair. Tardy. I'm tardy! I'm late for class and I don't even have Craig to blame for it this time!

Craig... I hope he's doing okay.

Oh, Lord. Don't think about him. He got in trouble because he was being a butthole to the teacher, and that's not my problem. There's no reason to be worried, either. He was only sent to the principal's office like the ten thousand other times something like this happened. He isn't being suspended, expelled, or anally probed. He's fine. I'm fine.

Still, he's on my mind. Still, I'm worrying about him. It's like some kind of brain disease or something.

Crancer.

Cramonia.

Craigitus.

I have Craigitus in my brains.

It's spread so rampant that I swear to God I can smell the cloud of cigarette smoke that sometimes lingers around him. It's... actually really strong. Dear God. I've gone insane, but instead of seeing things that aren't there like normal psychos, I just smell things that aren't there.

I'm smelling things, and, also, I'minsane. They're gonna put me away in the funny farm like they did Clyde's sister! I don't wanna go to the funny farm. The cows would step on me.

I turn around in confusion when the scent only gets stronger, eyebrows knitting together when I take note of a dark pair of shoes resting under the crack of a stall door. Warn out boots. Narrowing my eyes, a pang of frustration seeps through me. I guess it isn't a surprise we would both find ourselves coming to this one place in search of comfort and solitude, but somebody give me a break.

I shuffle over to the door before banging my fist against it angrily. "Do you gotta always pop up everywhere I go, you freaking butthole?" I groan against the door. He shuffles voicelessly inside the stall, and it isn't long before I hear the cigarette plop into the water. He doesn't answer, and after a while standing in silence I start getting more frustrated.

I frown deeply.

"Okay, sorry, I didn't mean that... you're just acting really weird today," I find myself apologizing to the blue door I'm leaning up against. "Can you come out so we can talk?

I hear a nasally clearing of someone's throat, but still no reply.

"Craig, please..."

The lock slides open, causing me to step back a foot or so. An eye peeks out at me from the newly formed crack in the stall door, but it isn't blue. It's brown. It's a deep chocolate brown that's scanning my face with glossy recognition. I tilt my head to the side, a small habit that I'm sadly adopting from the familiar gestures of my lover. The boy before me lets out a small sound of sadness, his hazed gaze shifting everywhere but in my direction. I reach out and grab a hold of the shiny silver handle. He doesn't fight or argue as I pull the door the rest of the way open. He just stands there looking shamed or guilty, like a child caught doing something he shouldn't have been.

"Clyde?" I question quietly, stepping a bit closer to get a better look at him. "Were you smoking?"

"Huh?... No," he denies with widened eyes.

He's lying. I can tell by his shifting gaze, although I don't understand why. I give him a look, my mouth twisting in disbelief. "I'm with Craig enough to know what tobacco smells like."

His lips curl downward into a pitiful frown, and he slips past me to make his way to the sink. I follow, keeping space between us to keep him from feeling smothered. He turns on the spigot just as I did before him, running his hands through the water, and then through his hair. He's oddly quiet as he does so, but it isn't long before he huffs and puts on a little smile.

"Um... I picked it up a couple weeks ago..." he confesses, turning the handle until the flow of water trickles to nothing. I lean up against the wall beside him as he does so, crossing my arms around my torso and resting the side of my head against the painted bricks.

"From Craig?" I chuckle with a cockeyed smile.

"Naw," Clyde murmurs, seeming just as amused by my assumption. "Kenny."

"Well, that's really surprising," I reply sarcastically, scratching at acne through the thick fabric encasing my upper right arm.

He smiles lightly. "Just... don't tell anyone about it, okay?"

"Why? A bunch of kids smoke," I reply with a baffled chuckle.

Clyde gives me a weird look, like he can't believe what he's hearing. "Wow. What? Out of all my friends, I thought you'd be the first to give me a smoking is bad speech."

My mouth twists from amused to offended. "What? Why does everybody act like I'm a goody-goody fuddy-duddy? I'm n-not some perfect little angel, you know."

Clyde's trying not to laugh. I can tell by the twitch at the corner of his mouth. "Fuddy-duddy?" he chuckles with raised brows, almost as if me using that term is enough in itself to prove his point.

"Oh, shut up, you know what I meant!" I fuss before looking down at my orange crocks, face flushing slightly in my embarrassment. Do I really seem that innocent? Is it really so hard to believe that I wouldn't lose my shit over something as small as a cigarette?

He frowns, and then reaches out to grip my shoulder reassuringly. "Hey, don't get all sad on me. I wasn't trying to make fun of you or anything."

My hand comes up to meet his, gripping it's fleshy back. I can feel the skin moving under the tips of my fingers. I can feel the bones that skin is blanketing, and the veins pumping blood and life through him. I'm so upset with him for so many reasons, but I have no right to be angry.

There's yet another thing that's horribly wrong of me. I seem to always expect Clyde to confide his problems in me. I get mad and frustrated when I know he's hiding things, and I take it personal when he'd rather keep what he's going through to himself.

I'm a hypocrite.

"I won't tell," I promise before shaking my head, the line forming my mouth trembling softly. The grip on my shoulder tightens.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm alright," I lie. "Just need sleep or something."

He doesn't believe me. That's more than evident from the tight-lipped look he's giving me. Despite that, he opts not to poke at my already rustled feathers. "Me too. A lot of it," he confides.

I look up. He's smiling at me, just like he usually does. It isn't tight lipped or insincere. It's not wavering or shaky. It's full, genuine, and candid. He's trying to make me feel better, but this efforts are giving the opposite effect. It only makes me feel bad, like I've been a selfish, shitty friend.

"Hey..." I utter weakly, my expression wavering a bit as I hesitantly look him in the eyes. When I don't continue, he hums out a small, questioning sound.

"You'd still be my friend even if I did something really bad, wouldn't you?" I finally ask, my bottom lip quivering again even though I'm begging it to stop.

He blinks at me, and his eyebrows raise.

"Well, of course I would," his hand clasps my shoulder firmly in a guyish show of affection. "I wouldn't be much of a friend otherwise, would I?"

I try to smile, but I'm sure it looks weird considering I'm on the verge of tears for the thousandth time since this all started. I want to tell him so bad. I want to admit to absolutely everything, to tell him the whole story from the very start. I want to admit that I've smashed my head two times in the last month. I want to tell him how lonely I feel all the time, and that I'm not the innocent little thing I've seemed to trick everyone into believing I am. I want to tell him how Craig kissed me, and that we've been sleeping together behind everyone's backs. I just want to admit to it all.

But I made a promise.

"I g-guess not." I feign a smile. I realize in my distress that I'm wishing he was here to help keep me from spilling my guts.

It makes me hate myself.

"... And, hey, I know things have been kinda weird, and we've been kind of distant lately," he begins without missing a beat, "but we're still bros, and you know can talk to me about anything if you need to."

Please, stop talking.

"Y-yeah," I utter, trying to speak softly so he can't hear the bits of emotion peeking through my words. "The same goes for you."

Clyde steps back a few feet to scoop his batman backpack up off the floor. The black thing has been hiding under one of the sinks.

Breathe in through your nose,

And out through your mouth.

"By the way, can you do me a favor and beat Craig up when you see him?" I ask as we migrate to the door. We're already late for class as it is, so we take our time leaving the bathroom.

"Pfft, why?"

"GAH! 'Cause he's back to arguing with teachers again!" I cry out, tugging hard on my hair. "He was doing so good this year, I was really proud of him! Then he goes and gets himself sent to Mr. Greyman's office!Ugh!"

"Wait, he got written up? Mom and dad are gonna be really happy about that." He uttered that last part under his breath before we finally walk into the hallway.

"Yeah! S-shit man, when is he ever gonna learn?"

"My guess is never," Clyde replies in more of a lighthearted tone than I was expecting, like Craig's delinquent behavior is somehow endearing. "You know how that guy is, he's always doing something he shouldn't be, and just when you think he's straightened out he's right back to it again. It's like when he kept stealing liquor from dad's cabinet."

I force myself not to chuckle, but a small grin tugs at the corners of my lips. That alcohol somehow always ended up being drank in my bedroom. Craig let me try it one time, but it tasted like I imagine paint thinner would.

"Hah, that was back before I lived with them," he muses. "When me and Monica shared that room in my dad's old house."

With the shake of his head, he grins, and it's not long before he's lost in the memory of his big sister. "That room was weird looking, her half was so packed full of stuffed animals that my half of the room looked empty."

I puff out a small bout of laughter.

"You miss her a lot, d-don't you?"

He looks down at his feet for a moment, and then his attention turns back onto my face. "Yeah... more than I ever missed anybody, but she wouldn't want me to be sad."

"Yeah," I mutter in quiet agreement.

It was only a year ago when Monica had left him, and I remember her well. She was much older than her younger half. At least old enough to take the place of their late mother. She wore her hair in a short bob, a lot like my own mom does. The silky strands were brown and her eyes were no different, just like her little brother.

I remember that she liked me especially, even though I think it's because she just felt bad for me. She asked my parents if she could bring Clyde over and baby sit while they were away a few times. Her watching over the neighborhood kids wasn't uncommon, but to go out of her way to do so without being asked was. A pretty apron with blue flowers stitched into the pockets always adorned her torso when she'd cook us dinner. She'd make peanut butter cookies for desert because they were my favorite, and Clyde and I would follow her through the kitchen as we held fast to the white strings that hung from her back.

She was always really happy and chipper despite all the hardship her dad put her and her little brother through. Nobody knew about that at the time, though. They never told anyone, and Clyde didn't admit it until he no longer had Monica to share his suffering with.

I don't understand how she could leave him when he needed her so bad. I know she had her own issues. She was in and out of the psyche ward a couple times before she died, though I don't know why. That's not an excuse, though. There'sno excuse for what she did. She offed herself in the closet they shared for God's sake. She had to've known he'd be the one to find her. She had to've known she was leaving him all alone in a horrible place.

She abandoned him, and I can't forgive her for that.

The rest of the walk to the band room consists mostly of idle chit chat about our sleepover. I'm not really engaged in the conversation, though. My brain is too busy trying to synchronize our steps to really pay attention to what's being said. It's hard to do. Clyde's legs are longer than mine, just like everyone else's are.

I look down at my feet and take steps much bigger than usual to keep up with Clyde's longer stride. I probably look stupid, but I don't care. The speckled tiles I'm staring at stop suddenly when we come to the band room. I swallow down spit when I look up. Through the thick window in the door, I see Craig isn't in class. His girlfriend is sitting on one of the lower steps of the mini-bleachers. She's looking down at her cell phone, biting her lip as she scrolls through text messages.

I don't want to go in, but I still trail behind Clyde as he slips into the room. He's greeted enthusiastically by a certain blond clasping a guitar.

"Hey, dude!" Kenny greets, holding the wooden instrument up by the neck. "I freaking learned the chords to that song!"

"Sweet!" Clyde veers off to join up with our friends in the higher steps of the bleachers, but I remain alone on the ground. I'm too hypnotized by how washed out Bebe looks today to participate. Her slender fingers fiddle with her cell phone, and a small sigh works it's way out of her pale, unpainted lips.

He looks almost sick without the color of makeup adorning her face. I feel horrible when I realize how smug that makes me feel.

She must have been able to feel me staring at her, because she looks up in my direction. I flinch when her gaze falls upon me, but smile a little to try not to seem awkward. She smiles back, though it looks tight and lost. Her hand comes up to gesture me by her lonely side. I really shouldn't go over there. Craig says that I can't talk to her when he's not with us, but curiosity is eating away at me.

I sigh before lifting my bag and stumbling over to her.

Her hair isn't even made today, and her clothes are faded shades of gray rather than her usual bright blouses. She doesn't look at all like the striking siren I've spent the last year battling with.

"Have you seen Craig?" She asks me before tucking pieces of hair behind her pierced ear. "I thought he'd be with you..."

I mimic her gesture, flashing my own little piercing as well. It's weird to me that he marked us both like this. It almost makes me feel like we're cattle with orange tags hanging low from our earlobes.

"He's probably s-still in the office," I utter sloppily, bringing my fingernails up and between my teeth.

She rolls her eyes. Frizzy blond locks move with the shake of her head as she sighs.

"He's in trouble," she uttered in downhearted recognition. Her phone is tucked up under one of her thighs now, and she's fiddling with the extra cloth on her sweats.

"Y-yeah," I confirm her fears, but give no details.

"He always does this," she complains lowly, leaning forward and resting her forehead in her palms. I decide to sit beside her, although I don't speak or touch to show my concern. I just sort of sit quietly and hope my presence can somehow make her feel a little better. God knows I've never done anything to make her life easier. The least I could do is just sit here and offer reassuring words.

"He doesn't mean it," I utter, rubbing my thumbs together. "He just doesn't think before he d-does things sometimes."

"That's not an excuse, though," she replies, looking up to the wall and wrapping her arms around her torso.

I'm not sure what else to say, so we both sit in silence and just let the class period wear away. Hopefully he'll show up before the period's over. He's supposed to be driving me and Clyde back to their house to pick up some sleep over things. Well, actually, he's supposed to be driving Clyde andhimself back to their house to pick up some sleep over things. I just decided to make the extra trip with them so I wouldn't be alone with Token.

I don't trust myself being alone with anyone but Craig, especially after the chat I just had with Clyde.

If it wasn't for my friends sitting right up the bleachers behind us I would have never sat beside her.

"I... guess not," I finally utter under my breath, eyes looking everywhere but at the woman beside me.

"It's like he never thinks of anyone else. He never considers that the things he does can actually hurt people. Like... me and you."

"W-what?" I sputter, nearly doing a spit take despite having nothing in my mouth.

"If he keeps getting in trouble like this, he could..." She purses her lips together and lets out a frustrated breath, stopping herself like she knows I'm fragile and doesn't want to scare me. I find that annoying. "You think he'd step back and think about how all the trouble he gets into would affect the people closest to him."

I let out a breath before looking down at my hands. I nod in a sort of agreement, but the more I hear the more I feel like a piece of crap. She doesn't even know.

She doesn't even know.

Bebe and I continue to sit next to one another despite the silence between us, and it isn't much longer before a familiar, burly form slips into the room. The blue clad figure looks around a moment, icy eyes scanning his surroundings glumly. The orbs land on me and the washed out girl I'm sitting with. His jaw clenches, and he swallows hard.

"Hey, Godzilla! Where ya been?" A certain blond blurts from the top of the steps, but Craig ignores him completely. Bebe watches his steps as he comes our way. He nods his head at her, but she only turns away from him.

He stops in front of us, peering down.

"What's wrong?" he asks the huffing woman, her jaw clenching at his words.

"Nothing," she lies.

His sharp gaze shoots to me immediately, and I shrug with a desperate look to tell him I'd said nothing he wouldn't have approved of. I hate it when he looks at me like that, like I'm some dirty little snitch.

He doesn't push her to spill what's festering in that head of hers. Instead, he sits down beside me and slumps over. Welp. This just got incredibly awkward for me, considering I'm sandwiched between him and her.

I fiddle with the excess cloth of my sweater, smoothing it out over my little stomach and pulling it down under my bottom. I sit stiffly, legs clamped together and hands resting on my knees like a little lady. At least that's what Kenny says I look like when I sit like this.

A pretty little lady.

I scoot so that I'm closer to Craig and farther from her before leaning in against his ear. He actually jerks at feeling my hands rest on him, but relaxes when he realizes I'm only trying to whisper.

"What happened?" I mutter. "What did the principal say?"

Craig looks over at me, our faces only inches apart as he murmurs back. "One more write up and I'm in in school suspension for a week."

"In school suspension?"

"He said he doesn't want me to think I've 'earned a vacation'."

I frown at that before sitting back down on the bleachers. Without thinking, I let my hand linger and squeeze his upper thigh in reassurance. It's something I've become so accustomed to doing I don't even think twice, but my face goes hot when he tenses. He shoots down a glare of warning at the intimate touch. I shiver, ripping my fingers away from him in mortification.

God damn it, Tweek. Think before you do things. Think.

I don't think she noticed the small peek into her boyfriends affair. She's still looking away from him out of frustration. Her fingers are clicking across her cell phone's keypad. He glances at her over my head, his eyes scanning her in what I interpret as worry.

He asks again, "what's wrong?"

She huffs. "Why were you so late for class?"

"Um," he stumbles in his words a bit. "I was talking to the principle."

"Why?"

"For... insubordination," falls out of his mouth like it's almost too heavy for his lips to form.

"Didn't we just have a talk about that a week ago?" she asks quietly, still not looking in his direction.

"Don't lecture me. I know fucked up, okay?" Craig growls, eyes sliding up to the massive chalk board mounted at the head of the room. Our teacher is drawing music on the board. I don't understand the lines and jumbled mess of notes.

"I know, I know," she sighs. "I'm just trying to watch out for you."

I feel Craig's eyes burning a hole into me.

"We'll talk about this later," he decides coldly.

"Yeah, yeah. Okay," she sighs in agreement. "Just... if you're going to end up spending all weekend with the guys, give me a call. I'm not used to going to bed without hearing your voice."

...

Every time I come over to stay at the Tucker's house, I spend ninety eight percent of my time locked in the blue confines of my best friend's room. There was one time a couple summers ago when I stayed with Craig for whole week, and his parents didn't even know I was there until I was caught poking through the fridge three days into my visit. I just don't like being in any room other than Craig's for very long. I'm not sure if it's the constant loud noises that scare me, or if it's the man who spends most of his time kicked back in the chair at the bottom of the stairs.

Thomas Tucker. Craig's dad.

I don't really know why I'm so horrified of him. He's never done anything bad to be, besides the occasional comments about how fruity I am... whatever that means. Maybe it's just because he's so massive, or maybe it's because of how loud he talks. Either way, when Craig, Clyde and I come moseying in through the front door, I remain hidden behind my giant of a best friend.

"How long will we be here?" I ask rather timidly from Craig's hip, peeking around it just enough to see the underside of his thick jaw.

He looks down at me, and then sucks on his lip rings in thought. "Just long enough to get our stuff," he replies. "Then we'll get to Token's."

I sigh shakily, but follow my friends as they walk through the tiger themed living room. Craig's in a hurry to get his things and go. He practically jogs up the staircase to get to his room, leaving Clyde and I in the dust. When we reach the door he's already inside. He's got a duffle bag laying out on his blue bed, and he's stuffing it with random articles of clothing. Clyde dumps everything in his backpack onto his bed before stuffing the thing just as his brother is. I stand to the side, observing while playing with the strap of my own overnight bag.

It's one of those fabric ones with the draw string on it. Clyde made fun of me when I first used it because the thing is littered with pictures of kittens. I said it was a hand-me-down from my mom to save face in front of my friends, but it wasn't. I picked it out myself because... well, who doesn't like kittens?

I turn to watch Craig stuff his duffel, and blink when I realize he has a new comforter on his bed. I still can't get over how different this place looks compared to when we were small. It's a tiny room that was truly meant for one little boy, so the two teenagers inhabiting it have overwhelmed the small space. Two beds take up the majority of their floor with one on either side of the room, and Craig's amp and small collection of guitars take up what little space he has at the foot of his bed. Messy. Their room looks very messy.

The Tucker's started repainting it dark blue a couple years ago, but never finished. A sloppy, white border remains around wood trimmings and light fixtures, and the paint is unevenly coated. There are dirty dishes and things of the sort littering Craig's makeshift night table, which is really just a cheap TV tray. Old, unfinished pieces of homework paper can be found dotting the floor, along with dirty clothes and an assortment of random odds and ends.

I curl up my nose in disgust.

"Ready?" Craig asks while zipping up his bag.

"Yup!" Clyde chirps, tossing his knapsack onto his back.

"Good. Lets fucking bail."

We hurry out the door and down the steps on Craig's heels. His boots thump against the carpeted staircase as he scrambles for the living room. As soon as he hits the bottom step, he bolts for the front door. His duffel slams against his hip with each step, and he seems relieved when his hand finally touches the doorknob.

"Ahem."

Craig stops rigid at the deep sound, and the three of us look back in momentary confusion.

"Where do you kids think you're going? Your mother's cooking supper," his father mutters from the kitchen doorway. I slide behind Craig to avoid getting caught in Mr. Tucker's line of sight.

"Oh!" Clyde speaks up. "We were just, uh... gonna have dinner at the Blacks'."

Those sharp eyes scan the young faces of his sons disapprovingly. They're a cold, narrow show of ice blue nestled into sharp, harsh features. Looking him in the face is almost like staring at Craig. Those pale eyes, long nose, and high cheek bones of his are more than reminiscent of his son's. Still, despite their strikingly similar faces, Mr. Tucker is nothing like Craig.

"She's already set the table," his voice rumbles lowly, like faint thunder. There is no room for a recoil or arguments. Just his tone is enough to let us know the decision is final.

With a twisted expression of dissatisfaction, Craig lets his duffel fall to the floor with a loud thud. His dad can make him stay, but he can't make him be happy about it. Thomas shakes his head at the boy before turning and disappearing into the kitchen, where the three of us will surely be held captive until dinner is over.

"Shit," Craig sighs.

"Hey," Clyde utters from the side of him. "We'll eat dinner, then we'll head to Token's place. No biggy."

Clyde sets his backpack down on the couch before walking past the kitchen and along the wall, where he takes a right turn into the dining room. Hesitantly, Craig follows, a look on his face that I can only describe as apprehension.

Mrs. Tucker is already setting the table when we sneak inside, a plate at each chair along with appropriate silverware. The table is quite big, at least compared to the tiny little thing we have at my house. It's a pretty, glossy dark wood with enough chairs to seat six. It doesn't match the rest of the room. Their drapes don't look nearly as new, and the light carpet is dotted with stains. They're ugly remnants of the messy children that used to eat their meals here before they grew to be us.

Mrs. Tucker is placing a fork when she happens to notice us, smiling with the same cockeyed grin Craig sometimes wears.

"Oh, hi there, Teacup," she greets me, placing her balled hands on each side of her hips. A striped green T-shirt pulls at her torso, and her bottom half is clad in a tan pair of capri pants. "I haven't seen you in forever. Where've you been hiding?"

"Um... Home?" I squeak shyly, hiding my mouth behind my hands.

"Ah, well, we're having spaghetti," she informs me, edging her way to the door connecting the dining room and kitchen. "I'll just get another plate and you can join us."

I nod, even though I don't exactly want to participate. I just really want to get to Token's house, and Craig being so... resistant... is making me all the more on edge.

Thomas is standing beside the table, straightening out some of the plates his wife hadn't finished setting up before she ran off. He glances down at me, offering a small nod of acknowledgment. I return the favor, although it looks more like a random jerk of my head than a greeting.

He looks down at the kitten-covered fabric I'm clinging in my hands, and makes a bit of a face. In complete and utter humiliation, I move it behind my back so he'll stop looking at me like I have faggot written on my forehead.

The awkward feeling in the air does not subside when we sit around the table to eat. The faint clicking of silverware against dishes is the only sound in the air, making me nervous and twitchy as I try not to draw attention to myself with my usual muttering. Craig is directly to my left, picking quietly at the meal set before him. Ruby and Clyde are across from us, just as silent, and both parents took their respective seats at the heads of the table.

It's been so long since I've had a family dinner that I'm not sure how to act. I'm spending the majority of the time trying not to twitch and jerk in fear of accidentally launching forkfuls of spaghetti across the room. Nervously, I reach for the Parmesan and drown the meaty strands of noodles in powdered cheese. Maybe that will cover the taste of the nasty vegetables infused into my noodle goodness, as I'm too afraid of seeming rude to use my fork to dig them all out.

"So, how was school?" Mrs. Tucker asks the group of teenagers seated before her. She swirls her fork around inside the mound of spaghetti on her plate, spinning the utensil to form a neat ball of noodles on the prongs.

Clyde gives a nonchalant shrug, Ruby fills the silence with a fine, and Craig says nothing. I shovel food in my mouth so that I look too busy to be bothered with such menial questions.

"How about you, sweetie?" She addresses the eldest of her children, who's been doing nothing but poking around in his food since we sat down. "Was your day alright?"

He makes a little face and shrugs, finally bringing his fork to his lips and pushing a meatball into his mouth. "Fine," he mimics his sister's response with a mouthful of food.

"S'not what the principal said today," his father interjects before wiping his sauce-covered lips with a napkin.

Craig sinks immediately. His shoulders raise up as he rests his elbows on the table, almost as if he's preparing himself for something.

"Please, Thomas," Mrs. Tucker warned lowly. "We have company, that can wait."

Craig doesn't even look up from his food, and he's still slowly chewing the same meatball as the tips of his fork go back to rearranging his plate.

"Wait? 'Till he's back from spending the night with his friends?" Thomas shakes his head. "He shouldn't be going, but every time he gets in trouble you make excuses for him. We have company, he has a headache, it's not his fault. The boy won't ever act right if you're gonna let him get away with everything all the time, Aliena."

"Yes, yes. I know. I'm a horrible, awful mother, and I should be ashamed of myself," she hisses, throwing a glare her husband's way. "I'm sick and tired of this. It's the same thing every damn time."

"Well, if you'd just listen to me the boy would stop being a little dick."

"Oh my god, do you people ever shut the fuck up?" Ruby barks with a twisted look, startling the hell out of me. "Did you ever think maybe it'syour fault we're all turning out to be pieces of shit?"

"Ruby!" Her mother blurts in disapproval.

The young girl lifts a middle finger. In frustrated retaliation, Thomas lifts one back at her. Aliena turns the offensive gesture back on her husband. Craig does not join in.

"We can't even have dinner now without going at each other, can we?" Clyde mutters. His chair groans as he pushes it out, and he launches from his seat.

"Clyde, wait," Ruby calls to him, but he's already retreating up the stairs. A sigh of frustration spills from her lips. She leaves her half full plate at the table, along with her dysfunctional family members, when she gets up to go after him. Neither of her parents try to stop her.

"Look what you've done," Aliena accuses her husband tonelessly before standing from her own chair, abandoning her meal and the sinking ship of a table.

"Me?" He shouts back, jerking up just like everyone before him to go after her.

We can hear them arguing as they retreat to somewhere deeper into the house. Craig's name is mentioned in an ugly way before all the children are addressed in the same tone. The sound of their bitter and poisonous words slowly melt away the further they get from us.

Thankfully.

Once the dust settles, I take a glance around the empty table. Their meals have all been left behind, some half eaten, some barely touched. Forks and spoons sit out messily across the polished wood.

A single click of silverware against a dish fills the lonely table with a sad tune. Craig's fork keeps swirling around in the mound of spaghetti on his plate, gathering up a bunch of noodles even though they don't make it to his mouth. His lip rings disappear as he chews on them. Eyes that were always so strong and cold have sank heavily, and hands that always seemed so sure and unrelenting are faltering around the handle of his fork.

He's all that's left.

Slowly, I inch to the edge of my seat before pressing a small, unsure hand on his arm. It's the only way I know how to comfort him. He says nothing against it, so my head is soon resting where my fingers had grazed, and my thin arms are wrapping around the thick limb. He leaves me be for quite some time after I've hidden part of my face in his arm, so I let out the smallest breath when his big left hand comes up to run through my greasy hair.

"Let's get out of here," he mutters quietly

…

Token's house is always decorated. Whether it's with leaves and pumpkins in the fall or snowflakes and snowmen in the winter, there are always nice nicknacks and pretties stacked up on mantles and hanging from drapes. It feels really homey and nostalgic with the four of us all piled up in the autumn themed theater room. Fake little fall leaves and plastic pumpkins adorn the mini-fridge and refreshment table along the back wall, placed ever so perfectly. Orange afghans hang on the back of some of the theater seats, and a little scare crow is sitting on top of the popcorn machine. It's always really pretty like this, although I think I like their winter decorations the best. When the chilly winter wind comes, so do pretty chandeliers made of crystal snowflakes, and beautiful white garland that hangs from railings. It's looks like a wonderland.

Token leans his seat back, sighing pleasantly as we all chatter about what to watch. He likes us being here. I think it makes him feel relaxed when we're around, like we help take his mind off of things like homework and studying. It's good to know we loosen him up like that.

"We should watch slasher movies. Things like Freddy and Jason," Clyde comments, kicking back in the seat beside me. Hurriedly, I shake my head in blatant disagreement.

"No! Oh no, please," I whine. "Last time you guys made me watch gory movies I couldn't sleep for a week, ugh!"

"Oh, lighten up, Teacup! They're just movies you know," Clyde chuckles from beside me. He clasps my shoulder in his hand, shaking me gently. "Just pictures on a screen. They can't hurt you."

I let out a sound that resembles a strangled cat, and Craig puffs out in amusement.

"Hey, what's so funny?" Clyde asks with a smile, like he's genuinely curious why Craig's on the other side of me shaking his head.

Craig shrugs. "You guys have the same conversation every year."

"W-we do?" I ask with a tilted head.

"Yeah," Craig mutters. "Clyde says we should watch slashers, you don't want to, he talks you into it, and then I get a call every night for a week because you think there's an ax murderer in your shower."

Token lets out a snort of a laugh when he realizes Craig's point. "It is kinda the same every year, isn't it?" he butts in while pressing buttons on his remote.

The big white theater screen has already been lowered before us, and Token uses his fancy newfangled technology to dim the lights with his remote. A selection of movies appear on the screen before us, and I scoot a little closer to Craig when I realize how dark its gotten in here.

"Hey... have you guys thought about this being our last Halloween together?" Clyde asks quietly, yet suddenly, from the side of me.

"H-huh? Why? We have our holidays together every year," I utter, twitching as I pull lightly on my hair.

"Well," he begins, pressing a knuckle into his chin. "This is going to be the last year Token and me are gonna be home. After high school's over we're getting shipped off to college. Either way, this is our last Halloween before we all go off into the world or whatever, you know."

"N-no more driving to school together in the morning?" I mutter dejectedly. "Or having lunch together, or sleeping over?"

We all go quiet, and I look up and down my little row of friends. With a deep frown, I wiggle back into my seat. Suddenly, I feel very alone.

"It'll just be really different..." Token mutters.

I'm not sure what he means by that, but it makes me feel empty. I don't want anyone to leave. I don't want Token and Clyde to go away. I don't want Craig to get a job and get married. I don't want to move out of my parents house and have to worry about things like bills and heat and where my next meal is coming from. I just wish we could stay like this forever, and nothing ever had to change.

"It's going to be weird not having you guys around," comes a candid confession from Token.

Clyde smiles while watching a selection of horror flicks scroll by on the lit screen, and Craig shifts uncomfortably.

"I'll miss you," he murmurs, his eyes staring straight forward to avoid eye contact.

"Wow, wow," Token chuckles. "Was that Craig's voice or Clyde's?"

"It was Craig, finally admitting his undying affections."

"Shut up, Clyde."

An uneven smile peeks through on the side of Token's face. He throws his arm around the guy next to him. "I'll miss you too, Craig... but I'm taken."

"Well, fuck."

Clyde is laughing much harder than he should be, leaning over the arm of his chair as he heaves out chuckles. This is when I feel something wrap around me. I stiffen in confusion when Craig pulls me to his side, gripping me close.

"Tweek's hotter than you anyway," he recoils, making my cheeks turn a deep shade of red.

Conversation silences when Clyde sees the movie he's been waiting for. When he forgets how to use words, his arms start flailing to get Token to stop scrolling.

"Ahh, Halloween, there it is right there!"

Token stops, the screen flashing as he presses on the movie our friend is so excited about.

"Ugh," I grumble to myself. I don't like these kind of movies. Crazy psycho guys swinging around butcher knives only makes me afraid to look out my window at night- not that I'm not already afraid to look out my window at night. I shake my head in nervousness, sinking low in the bright red theater chair I'm huddled in. The room quiets as my friends turn their attention to the opening credits of a movie we've seen every Halloween since we were kids. A movie I really freaking hate. My eyes scan the darkened room, lit only by the occasional flash of multicolored light from the screen. It shines on the faces of my friends, on mine too. Its a familiar light that drags my mind back through time, when the faces seated around me were softer and rounder. This is when the truth to Clyde's realization begins to sink in.

Those doe-eyed kids stayed up past their bedtime to sneak into the theater and play movies they knew their parents wouldn't want them watching. They seemed to be such forbidden taboo back then, and even as a twelve year old I didn't want any part of it. Now, though, the fresh, compelling films those children were so enthralled with are nothing but worn out old photos we only look back on to reminisce. I don't want to think about the things I'll look back on at twenty, forty, eighty- if I make it to eighty.

All I hope is that in some way we are all still together, and Craig lives up to the promises he's made to me. His arm is lingering on the back of my chair. It makes me shiver.

Halfway through the movie, a flash of light engulfs the room from the screen. Clyde and I jump, and I look over at him.

He doesn't look the same. His cheeks somehow seem sunken, and he's looking at the screen in such a way that tells me hes not really looking at it. His eyes grow a little wider, and they slide slowly in my direction. Blank and unreadable, his wide, brown orbs pierce into the black fog of darkness engulfing the room behind me. I freeze in fear, because the face he's wearing seems absolutely petrified. I jerk around, earning Craig's attention as I try to see what horrifying thing is lingering behind me.

There's nothing there.

"Clyde?" I whisper under the sound of the movie. He doesn't seem to be hearing me, and his eyes only move to follow the invisible thing that's left him so terrified.

"Hey," Craig utters, reaching around me to gently shake our gawking friend.

Clyde's gaze snaps up at the man gripping him with his jaw unhinged and eyebrows raised, but relaxes as if someone clicked off a switch in the back of his head.

"What?" he asks, dumbfounded as to why everyone's staring at him.

"Are you o-okay?" I ask with worry lacing my words.

"Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"

Just like that, Clyde goes back to watching the movie. I stare at him for a long while as everyone else eases back into the film. He looks normal again, and I listen as he chats pleasantly with Token through the more boring parts of the film. Feeling confused and overwhelmed, I decide to step out of the room for some fresh air.

"...I'm gonna go get something to eat." I slide out of my seat, grabbing a hold of Craig's hand as I walk by his lounging form.

There's no way I'm wandering off in this dark mansion alone, especially around Halloween. Who knows what sort of horrors the Blacks' have hidden around this huge place.

He looks at Clyde for a long few seconds before standing to escort me to the kitchen. I keep my grip on him and lead the way out of the theater with my giant in toe. The sounds of screaming and booming music fade as we get further down the hall. His heavy footsteps are all that accompany my breathing until we happen upon a large staircase leading down into the foyer. The steps creak under his massive weight. A large chandelier covered in artificial cobwebs hangs low in the massive room. It's light is the only thing guiding us through the pitch black of this house.

"Why's it so dark?" he asks when we finally slip into the kitchen. He tries flipping on the light switch, but the room remains pitch black.

"D-didn't Token say the bulb blew again?" I ask, peering inside.

He shrugs, and waltzes right on in despite not being able to see a damn thing. We glide past the counter I was at one time one with, and Craig feels along the wall for the pantry. He lets out a small, pleased sound when he pulls the door open, and he flicks the light on inside.

I step in, eyes scanning shelves of canned food and boxes of cereals. A big white freezer takes up most of the space to the left of me, but the room is still big enough to walk into. I slide over to peek at the plastic packages of ramen, and reach up in a failed attempt at getting some down myself.

"Need some help?"

"No! I can get it," I argue, getting up on the tips of my toes to reach the colorful packaging.

"Hey... know what would be fun?" Craig asks. A devilish little grin appears on his face as he reaches out to squeeze my ass.

"H-hey!" I protest with a laugh, but don't pull away from him despite his rough hands gliding up and under the back of my shirt.

"We're at Token's house, you know," I remind him. I'm still trying to reach for the ramen noodles. His hands are still exploring my body.

"So? He's upstairs," Craig reasons. His fingers slip down between my thighs, and I freeze when one of the digits press somewhere rather sensitive.

"Mn," my hands still against the shelf, and I lower myself down on the balls of my feet.

"Feel good?" he breathes triumphantly.

I nod.

Without warning, he plucks me up off the floor before sitting me on top of Token's freezer. He adjusts me as he wants me, his hands gripping my hips hard.

"Lay back."

"C-Craig, I don't know if we should... you know..."

"Shh," he coos. "I'm just gonna suck."

Shivers crawl up my core at the word, and, slowly, I lay back as he told me to. His head sinks down between my legs, and he pushes me farther back against the wall.

"Ah! Stop manhandling me! You're gonna make me smack my head!" I huff out as my fingers comb up under his hat.

"Shh," he hushes from between my things, "They're gonna hear us."

"Mm," I cry out softly in retaliation before laying my cheek against the cold freezer under me.

This is definitely not something we should be doing. We're at Tokens' house, for goodness sake. Not to mention both of our friends are just upstairs. Sure, they're busy with the movie, but if they get the mind to come down after us Craig and I would be toast. He buries his face into the cloth of my pajama pants and lets out a small noise. I groan, pressing my body up against him. His big fingers slip down in the white elastic gripping my sides. He breathes hot air on my lower stomach, earning another moan from my trembling lips.

This feels so good already, too good. I swear I turn into more and more of a slut every time I'm alone with this guy.

The elastic comes down, along with my pajama pants, exposing trembling, pale skin. I lift up off the freezer, huffing quietly as the cloth slips down to my ankles. A small, smug chuckle resonates from him when he sees just how hard I've gotten, and I know immediately that I can't turn back now.

This is so wrong of us to be doing in Token's pantry. Still, I don't say a word against it when he lifts up my entrapped ankles and slips his head back between my legs. With a long, deep, exhale, he wraps my stiffened member in his fingers. He pumps gently with one hand, holding my twisting hips in place with the other.

"Mm. F-fuck, Craig," I breathe softly when a wet muscle rubs against the head. He chuckles around his split tongue, and then lets out a small breath when he takes it in his mouth. I try hard not to push up into the wet cavern when he stalls to swirl his tongue around the tip.

"Ah!" I let out thoughtlessly.

"Hey, I said to keep it down," he mutters, but quickly goes back to sucking.

I cover my mouth with my hands, small sighs pumping out of my chest with every bob of his head. His split tongue works around the shaft, saliva coating me when he takes a moment to breathe in through his mouth. His lip rings rub and tease. The hard metal slides deliciously along the length.

I cry out, tugging on the front of my sweater with a reddening face.

I slide deeper into his mouth, and up into his throat. I wiggle at the feeling, huffing before hiding my red face in my hands. Those darkening eyes look up at me, and I feel my chest bubbling.

This lustful wanting is just for me.

That hot boiling in my stomach can't take much more. I shake and shiver when he hums against it, his teeth gently grazing the skin as his lip rings had.

"Oh~ I like that," I breathe hoarsely, bucking a bit against him. He sucks harder, and my back arches up off the metal with a gasp. His hands are clamped mercilessly around my hips as I start to come, but, in fear of getting a mouth full of the gooey mess, he lets the stiff, wet arousal fall out of his lips and into his jerking hand. The white mess pours out over my lower belly as I nip down on my finger, muffling a small sound with the flesh and bone I'm biting into.

Heavy blue eyes look up at my face while he bites at his bottom lip.

"Was that okay?" he asks almost shyly as my thighs come up to clamp his thick neck between them. I nod with a stupid grin, my body shivering a bit when he leans forward to kiss my still-hard cock. I let out a small breath of a chuckle.

"Craig," I laugh, reaching down with a trembling finger to brush some hair away from his forehead. "You got some on your cheek."

I try to reach down to wipe the droplets from his skin. Before I can manage it, he lets out an annoyed groan, and his head falls down onto my stomach.

"Ew!" I complain despite my laughter. "You're gonna get it in your hair!"

He lifts his head back up, and I reach for the paper towels Token's parents keep stored in here. I rip a sheet free from the roll and use it to wipe his face clean of my mess. He gives the tissue a weird look as I do so. Backing away from the white wad, he makes a face like being touched by it's offensive. He's stuck in the trap of my thin legs, though, so he doesn't get too far.

"How did you swallow this stuff?" Craig asks with a twisted face. The tip of his pointer finger rubs the stickiness under my bellybutton.

"What?" I chuckle quietly. "It's not that gross."

He looks down at what's left on my stomach, tilting his head a bit in curiosity.

"What does it taste like?" He asks, his cheeks flushing the slightest shade of pink at the question.

"I don't know," I chuckle. "Kind of like salt, I guess. Its more the texture that makes it weird to have in your mouth."

He takes a small breath before leaning forward and dragging his tongue through the come on my midriff. He jerks back, his face twisting more than I'd ever seen. Sticking out his tongue a bit, he makes the most displeased sound. With a look like he just licked a lemon, his mouth moves, and he tries to swallow down the nasty feeling on his tongue.

"I don't want to do that again," he admits.

I find myself laughing senselessly again, my head falling back against the white surface I'm laying on. He frees himself of the trap of my legs before standing up. He rips a sheet of tissue off the roll as well, using it to clean off what's left of the evidence. I let out a pleased sound when the disposable towel rubs against my skin. He gathers up our used tissues, and urges me to tilt my bottom up so he can make me decent again.

"I can pull up my own pants, you know," I breathe out, batting him away lazily.

"Sorry," he grumbles, standing back a bit. He watches me as I twist on the metal, working the cloth back up to cover my ass. He's watching a little too closely.

"That was fun," I chuckle more childishly than I'd meant to.

He shakes his head with a grin before turning around to peek outside the door.

"I don't see anyone," he comments.

"They're still watching that movie upstairs," I sigh, slipping down off of the freezer. He steps outside the door, leaving me in the slightly darkened room to throw away the soiled tissues he's holding in his hand. I sigh a bit when I realize he's left me alone, but end up peeking around the rest of the pantry in hopes of finding a snack. Token always has the best food at his house, and he doesn't mind sharing with us as long as we don't open or finish anything. I find a bag of Doritos laying out on one of the lower shelves, and I smile when I realize I can actually reach it. I step out into the kitchen as Craig had before me, but I don't see him in the darkened room.

"Craig?" I utter, looking around the kitchen in nervousness before shrugging to myself to try and ward off fear. Once I feel a bit more comfortable, I walk across the room towards the fridge to get something to drink. My feet make a faint thumping noise against the tile floor, but it isn't the only sound I hear. It's like a faint breathing in the darkness, making shivers crawl all up and down my spine. I wipe little beads of sweat left over on my forehead away before peeking back into the shadows. Hurriedly, I throw open the fridge door to help expel some of the darkness that's engulfing the room. I can't hear the breathing anymore, and I can't see anything. I sigh shakily in relief. This house and all it's creepy ass decorations must be putting me on edge. I'm always freaked out and nervous around Halloween as it is, anyways. I shake my head to help further dispel my fear, and then reach inside the large fridge for a bottle of tea. I freeze completely when I hear the unmistakeable sound of a low moan.

I jerk around.

"Craig?" I call back into the large kitchen. I'm met with only silence, but my paranoid eyes can't stop scanning the dark. I'm just waiting for some freakish monster to pop out from the sheet of black and try to eat my flesh! It's just like a crappy horror flick, scandalous hormone crazed teenagers and all!

I squeal loudly when another groan resonates through the room. It's much, much closer than it was before. I breathe heavily, quickly pulling out my iPhone to use as a flash light before slamming the fridge closed. In the faint blue lighting of my cell phone screen, I'm suddenly met with the horrid sight of a mutilated body sliding towards me.

I scream bloody murder. In a horrible panic, I throw my Doritos at the twisted creature, crying out in fear as I turn to escape the long arms it's grabbing at me with. I can hear it sliding after me across the floor. It's incessant moaning and hissing is trailing behind me as I make a break for the door into the living room. I trip over my own feet before I make it there, tumbling helplessly to the floor. I lose the grip on my phone during the tumble, along my only light source and the precious device as it flies somewhere across the room. I feel something rub against my toes, followed by a low gurgling from the horrible thing's throat. I try to kick it away with flailing legs, but it just keeps coming at me, wailing with a loose, unhinged jaw. By this point I'm crying as I crawl across the floor to get away. Somehow, I manage to stand back up and make my escape towards the foyer.

"Tweek?" I hear a familiar voice call from the room I'm trying to escape to. The foyer light flicks on, and the first thing I see is the massive form of my best friend looking in at me with worry and confusion.

"GAH! Craig!' I scream, running up to him and throwing my arms around his hips. "There's something in the kitchen! Holy f-fuck! There's a monster!"

I'm too hysterical to will myself to better explain that azombie just tried to rip the flesh from my bones.

"Monster," Craig mimics with the sound of pure confusion, his head tilting to the side.

That's when the disgusting groan comes gurgling back up to my ears. I whip around only to see the horrible thing hasn't quite finished lusting for my tender brains. hysterically, I jerk on Craig's clothes, letting out long strings of horrified babble as the creature pulls its torso of a body towards us.

"Tweek, calm down," Craig utters to me, his hand gently finding the back of my head. The creatures long, boney arms are covered in tattered and leathery skin, and I literally start climbing up Craig like a tree as the mutilated creature uses the creaking things to reach for me. Craig sighs, leaning down and picking me up by under my arms. He holds my shivering form on his hip like a mother to a toddler, and the vial creature bumps lazily against the front of his legs as it mindlessly claws at nothing. I look down at it from my spot safely perched in Craig's arms. He gets a disgusted look on his face before pressing the edge of his boot against the thing's forehead, slowly sliding it back into the kitchen and away from him. The horrifying, flesh eating zombie lets out another low groan, and I realize it's arms are letting out a weird squeaking sound.

"It's plastic, " Craig coos to me, using his foot to push the thing around while trying to keep his balance. "See?"

He retracts his boot, and the half-a-zombie scoots across the floor to yet again bonk against the front of his legs.

"Persistent little fuck," Craig mutters.

I go limp in his arms, complaining lowly about Token and his stupid zombies.

"We should get back upstairs," he decides. "They're going to wonder what we're doing."

...

I laid on the hard wood floor of Craig's closet, just doodling away with Bob laying out on my back. It was winter then, making it far too cold for daily visits to the park. That kind of sucked, because playing spaceman was about a million times more fun when he had a real ship to play in. Nonetheless, we improvised very well. Ruby let us keep the crib and baby things for Bob, so Craig and I spent most of the winter tending to her.

Oh, and scavenging for food on the freezing alien planet we crash landed on.

Craig's closet was the damaged shell of a ship we settled down in with hopes of surviving until the planet warmed up enough for us to find an escape. Bob and I rarely left the safety of the shuttle. Craig was the one to always venture out into cold blizzards and barren, unforgiving terrain in search of food. I would stay behind to watch and coddle the baby. The little family we had going on was actually kind of cute.

We did a lot of really cute things when we were bitty.

The space hatch lifted, making me jerk in fear and break my yellow crayon. "Aw!" I let out in disappointment before dropping the thing and looking up at the little boy shuffling his way into the spacecraft and out of the cold. He had a burlap sack he carried over his shoulder, full of his finds.

"You're back!" I rejoiced, standing with Bob to inspect the loot he'd brought home for us. "What did you get?"

He let the bag fall down to the floor, and started digging into the bottom.

"I found some bugs."

He laid out a plastic package filled with multicolored gummy bears.

"And some more of those round fruits you liked."

He laid out another bag of peach rings.

I let out a small, celebratory sound at his discoveries, and then picked some of the fruity circles from their clear packaging.

"What are you doing?" he asked when I sat down and went back to scribbling on my paper with a waxy red utensil.

"I'm m-making a fire place so we can be warm!" I replied proudly. Red and yellow scribbles reminiscent of flames littered the large sheet of paper in front of me, and Craig nodded his head at the idea.

"We should put it right there," he said, pointing to the long wall between Bob's crib and our makeshift bed. I nodded in elated agreement, and we sloppily used a little roll of scotch tape to stick the paper up on the wall.

We had a lot of things taped up to the walls. Some were symbolic of household appliances and things, like blobs of colors that were supposed to be used as a stove and refrigerator despite the doodles only being a few inches tall. There were a lot of pictures of us, too. Well, they were supposed to be us. They looked more like blue and green blobs with a little gray thrown in there for Bob, but they served their purpose. I even went so far as to scribble brown borders around them to make them look like they were in picture frames.

I really, really liked being his housewife.

Once our fire was set up and we were stuffed on junk food, we put Bob in her crib and climbed into our own makeshift bed. We laid close, as it was always cold in his house in the winter, and he pulled his warm Red Racer comforter up over our little bodies. Huddled and warm, we molded together as we always had, and the rise and fall of our chests synchronized for sleep. I could see a smile on his face from the dim light seeping through his blanket.

"I like it when you smile," I admitted, poking his cheek with a small finger.

"I don't. Braces are gross."

"They are not! Braces are cute!"

"Are you calling me cute?"

"Wh-... No!"

I shifted on my pillow, groaning lightly as he laughs at my expense.

"So, where do you want to go when we finally get off this planet?" he asked with a yawn. I cuddled closer to combat the cold.

"... I don't want to leave."

"Huh? Why not?"

I played shyly with the front of my shirt, big green eyes downcast in embarrassment. "...I like being a family with you and Bob," I whispered quietly.

Silence filled the air between us as he registered my confession.

"... Yeah... me too."

I smiled. "If the universe didn't n-need spacemen to protect it I'd want to stay here forever."

"We don't have to be here to be a family. Me and you- we'll always be together."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

Our pinkies wrapped around one another to bind us to the pact, and soon after I fell asleep with him on the dusty floor of the abandoned space shuttle.

When I came back the next day, the house was eerily silent. I can recall that much. The usual loudness and chaos that accompanied walking through the front door of the Tuckers' home had mysteriously disappeared, leaving my ears ringing horribly loud. Usually, on such a bright day, there were sounds of kids fighting and screaming, pots banging around in the kitchen, and the television turned up to annoyingly high levels to drown it all out. Not that day, though, and that's how I knew something was wrong. Horribly wrong, like the entire family had been murdered or Craig's mutilated body was waiting for me around the corner somewhere.

Okay, so maybe it wasn't anything quitethat wrong, but I knew something was off. Then again, maybe that was just my paranoia talking. I was infamous for jumping to horrifying conclusions with little evidence to support it. Especially when it came to Craig.

I creeped through the house, eyes wide and alert as I searched the floor for red speckles. Luckily, I didn't come across any on my way to the staircase. With a steadying huff I willed myself to climb the stairs, and, once at the top, I called out for my friend. He didn't answer, so I kept walking until I found myself standing in front of his bedroom door.

I knocked loudly. "Craig? Are you in there?"

Still nothing. With a lopsided twist of my mouth, I turned the handle and slowly peeked inside.

I saw him.

He sat alone on his bed, curled in on himself like a roly-poly bug. My shoulders immediately went limp at the sad sight. My eyes traveled from his chubby frame to the walls behind him. They were stripped clean of all his posters of space shuttles and astronauts, and my pretty glow-stars had all been missing. I approached him wearily through the disheveled bedroom, stepping on blankets and old toys before reaching and hoisting myself up onto his mattress.

"Hi, Craig," I greeted with a squeak, hoping my presence would make him happy, as it always had before. However, I received no reply. Frowning, I spoke again. "What's the matter? What happened to your room?"

He shook his head between his knees, which were clamped to his skull on either side. I watched in sadness as the black lump of hair sank a little lower between his legs. His hands were both balled into tight little fists, but one didn't seem to be closing all the way. I reached out, poking it gently before asking, "Wacha got there?"

He didn't reply, and his grip didn't let up in the slightest. Trying to be careful, I slowly worked his fingers open with my own until I could make out a piece of what he was clinging so tightly to. He was squeezing so hard to a plastic star that the edges were imbedding into the tender flesh of his fist. I squeaked in worry before forcing the pretty plastic away from him so that he wouldn't hurt himself with it. His shoulders rolled up, and I slipped my little fingers into his tightening fist as a replacement for his star. There wasn't much movement from him after that. He just sat there for the longest time, all curled up and squishing my digits in his meaty grip.

I glanced around the room once again, eyebrows furrowed in anxiousness. The door to Bob's room hung open, and I could see from his bed that her cradle and baby things had vanished. Not even so much as a pacifier had been left behind.

"W-the shuttle's open," I noticed aloud. "Where's Bob?"

"She's gone," he replied quietly through the cloth of his pajama bottoms.

"What?!GAH! Oh no! I knew the aliens would find her! C-come on, Craig! We have to go and save her!" I got up from the bed, pulling hard on my friend's arm to get him up to come with me.

"No, Tweek," he argued while trying to jerk his limb out of my grasp.

"Wh-... But we're spacemen! It's our job to help everybody that's in trouble! Especially Bob, you said so!"

"No!" he snapped, his head finally jerking up to look at me.

The face he wore wasn't the happy, innocent one I'd become so used to. It looked like Craig, the sharp and callous one I've come know now.

"Don't you get it? Aliens aren't real! We aren't spacemen! Our ship's just a pile of pipes, our laser guns are just Nerf blasters, and Bob is just a stupid doll!"

I found myself gawking at him in disbelief, but my confusion quickly turned to anger.

"Don't say that!" I screamed, tugging on him even harder. "It's not just make-believe, Craig! It's not!"

"I said let go!"

In his fury, he ripped his arm away from me, and I went tumbling down onto his carpet. A small cry slipped out of me when I landed on my back with a heavy thud, and I rolled over slowly while trying to regain my breath. I coughed, and Craig jumped up from his bed.

"Tweek?" he cried out, coming down beside me. "Are you okay?"

I nodded my head despite the tears pricking my eyes. He didn't seem too convinced, though. His hands worked their way under my shoulders, and I let out a little squeak when he helped me sit back up. He looked like he could burst into tears any second, which left me awestruck. I had never seen him look so upset before. I opened my aching fist to see that the plastic star I took from him managed to poke and sink into my skin. He looked down at the green thing, his face falling drastically.

"I don't understand," I whispered, water leaking from me. "Why don't you want to save Bob? She's our baby, Craig."

"Tweek, she isn't a baby... She's just a toy."

I shook my head, a small sob working its way out of me. "No. No she's not, and you know it!"

The line that formed his mouth stiffened, and he shook his head.

"Boys don't play with stars," he said as if it was something he had rehearsed, or had been fed to him so many times that it got lodged in his heart. "They don't play with baby dolls, and they don't play house with other boys."

"W-why not?" I asked downheartedly.

"I..." he uttered in response. He looked around the room for direction, but bare walls and disheveled toys didn't give him the answer.

"I don't know," he croaked softly. His round face scrunched up, and he hid it from me in his hands. Little blue clad shoulders shook, and small, wet sounds of sorrow fell from the cracks between his chubby fingers. I watched with a broken spirit as he tried to catch his tears in his hands.

It never happened before or since. There were rare occasions throughout our lives I thought I saw a sad twitch of his lip or a wet glisten in his eyes, but never a tear. I sputtered and twitched at the sight before reaching out for him. I wrapped my arms around his neck, and he let his head fall onto my shoulder. Salty water soaked into my sleeve as he heaved, and we never played spaceman again.


	11. Rockets and Time Machines

I find myself thankful for the bright display in Token's alarm clock. It's the only thing keeping this eerie room dimly lit. The lights are flicked off, leaving us shrouded in darkness, but my friends are close. My friends are laughing. I sigh contently to myself, feeling comfortable despite the darkness and Craig not being lovey. He isn't cuddling with me or using me as his little spoon like he usually would. He's just laying behind me, sprawled out on his own. Clyde's laying on my other side, a content smile on his face even though bangs are hanging low from his tired eyes. We're so close I can feel our breath intermingle. Token is on the other side of the humongous bed. His back is pressing up against Clyde's.

This is part of a sleeping ritual we always try to break ourselves of. We turn off the lights and lay down, but with four wandering minds under the same covers, sleep can't be had for a while. I don't mind. It's the one way we seem to connect the most sometimes, when there's open space to simply speak our minds about whatever or whoever is stuck on them. It's always been nice to have that, but, now-a-days, I find it more nerve wracking than anything.

Streaming rants about my countless conspiracies of the government's involvement with alien lifeforms or big corporations poisoning our water supply are no longer the sort of thing that sticks in my head. My mind is too busy trying to keep up with Craig to contemplate things like that anymore. Whether or not that's a good thing, I can't be sure, but I do know I'd much rather think about being dismembered in alien experiments than where those big Godzilla hands have been.

I'm usually the first to break the silence with some bizarre, completely random question that leads to deep discussions about life, death, and all the scary and wondrous things in between. Tonight, though, I'm too nervous to open my mouth, making Token the first to speak over the cool air of his bedroom.

"I wonder if Nicole ever thinks about me," he utters quietly. It sounds more matter-of-fact than anything, but there's an emotion there he can't hide.

"Of course she does," Clyde replies. He sounds groggy, more tired than the rest of us as he rubs sleepies out of his eyes. "You guys were together for like two years."

"Hm," Token breathed in response, shifting a bit under his thick, silky comforter. "Yeah..."

"You talk about her too much," Craig interrupts after a moment of hesitation. I can't feel the warmth of his breath on the top of my hair as he speaks. I can't feel his chin ruffle my hair as he situates himself. It bother's me. He needs to be closer.

"Well, sorry," Token mutters in defense. "Didn't realize my break up was so annoying to you."

Craig sighs, his hand coming up to rub the regret of his blurted phrase off the side of his mouth. It's quiet for a while as the awkwardness hangs heavy over us.

"Well...," Clyde speaks in vague defense of our friend. "The first is always hard to let go of, you know."

"The first?" I blather dumbly. "Nichole wasn't Token's first girlfriend."

"No, no. I didn't mean first _girlfriend_. Um..." Clyde scrunches his face in thought for a moment, and I cock my brow in suspicion.

"How do I explain this to someone so innocent?" He finally mutters after staring at my face a good long while.

Craig huffs out a small snicker, as if that sounded funny for some reason, before taking it upon himself to explain with the most vulgarity he can muster. "He meant Nichole was the first chick Token fucked."

I jerk back to look at Craig in shock and distaste, while all Clyde can do is shake his head disapprovingly.

"All behold Craig Tucker," he says with an arm outstretched, "king of subtlety."

"What?" The giant snickers. "It's not like the guy's never heard of sex before."

My cheeks go red like a ripe tomato hearing Craig say such things, so I hide my blushing face in my hands. It doesn't help much.

"Aw, you embarrassed him," Clyde coos like it's cute.

"GAH! No, no it's fine. That's just... a little awkward," I explain through the crack between my palms.

"Almost eighteen and still thinks hearing about sex is awkward," he utters spontaneously while rubbing his chin between his fingers. "We need to get this poor kid laid or something."

I nearly choke to death on air before gasping, "WHAT?"

Token's laughter mixes in with Clyde's, though his isn't quite as loud and obnoxious, before saying: "Oh, leave him alone. You're a virgin, too,"

"Am not!"

"Getting a hand-job behind a dumpster doesn't count as loosing your virginity," Craig chips in rather monotonously.

I'm amazed with the realization that I wasn't the last one in our group to get down and dirty, but the longer the conversation goes the more frustrated I get. I'm neither a five year old everyone needs to hush around, or a pitiful virgin who needs his friends' help getting laid.

I've _had_ sex before, thank you, even if it was just one time and hurt more than anything.

"Alright, alright, whatever," Clyde sighs in defeat. "At least I'm not the only one who hasn't done it."

"Yeah, you are."

The light air in the bedroom shifts at the sound of my voice, and my friend looks up at me with a bit of a baffled expression. "What?"

"I'm... I'm n-not a virgin," I admit solemnly. My voice sounds so sad when it comes out. It's small, quivering, and quiet.

"Really?" Token laughs in disbelief, because sweet and innocent little Teacup is incapable of doing such a dirty thing. "Since when?"

I bite my bottom lip as the memory of Craig's heavy body flashes behind my eyes. The creaking of my bed frame, the hot puffs of his breath, the overwhelming scent of his cologne seeping into my bare skin, it all still feels so vivid. I wish I could tell them.

"Last week," I whimper.

The room goes quiet until Clyde utters, "... Seriously? With who?"

A strong grip comes to the back of my shirt. It's Craig's tense fist tightening around the fabric. It's a silent plea for me to stop talking, to shut my god damned mouth before I let something slip and ruin his life.

I swallow hard. My heart slams against my chest like a fist beating on a drum. They're all dead silent, waiting for my answer.

"I..." Is all that comes out of me. Craig's grip feels ominous somehow, like a warning. It doesn't help my anxiety in the slightest. "I can't say."

"Why?" Token asks from somewhere across the bed.

I tremble and shake while sputtering to myself. "Fuck, I don't know, man! It's nobody's business."

"Well... does she like you?" Clyde drops into the conversation smoothly. "I mean like... The girl you did it with. Is she your girlfriend, or..."

I look up at the ceiling, contemplating the question. It takes a few moments for me to click SHE and CRAIG together. "She said she liked me one time, but she isn't my girlfriend.. Ah!... I don't know..."

"Teacup..." Token utters my nickname slowly. "That doesn't sound right to me..."

Craig says nothing in the midst of my slip up. The bed shifts and springs squeak as he rolls over, taking the blanket we were sharing with him. He rolls till he's facing away from us, until he is no longer next to us. I remain quiet as well while biting on my bottom lip. I'm so stupid for telling them, but I couldn't help it. I'm sick and tired of everyone thinking I'm something I'm not.

Despite Token's push, the conversation dies when he realizes how clammed up I've become. That's a good thing. Craig's already mad at me as it is. I should have kept my mouth shut. Now, not only is he not using me as a little spoon, but he doesn't even want to lay beside me. That's evident with how far he's hanging off the king sized bed.

I reach back, grabbing the edge of the plush blanket he ran away with. I tug at the small corner, but I can only manage to pull it over my boney hip.

"Craig," I whisper sadly. "I'm gonna get cold."

He doesn't care. He pretends to be sleeping, and the realization that he's ignoring me doesn't help my worry.

"Here, Teacup," Clyde says lightly. "I'll share with you."

He tosses the edge of Token's silk comforter over me, but I don't scoot any closer to the warmth underneath it. I feel bad for not telling my friends about things I do, but I also feel bad for telling them things I promised Craig I wouldn't mention to anyone. I can't win no matter what I do.

I lie wide awake throughout the long night as my friends drift into slumber one by one. I'm always the last to fall asleep, and I'm always the first to wake up. Tonight is no different.

I close my eyes and hope the dimly lit room will lull me into some kind of comfortable rest. It's no use, though, because as the bright green letters of Token's alarm clock slip from two thirty to four in the morning, I'm still laying here with my eyes peeled wide open. Shadows cast on the tall white walls of Token's room look like silhouettes of monsters, and if I lay here long enough I start to hear noises that sound like whispering in the static of the quiet. Fighting the inevitable is only making me restless.

I have to have Craig to be able to sleep in the dark.

I move from my position slowly as not to disturb my friends. Cloth rustles and the mattress squeaks a bit too loudly as I sit up and shift my body. No one is disturbed, though, not even Craig as I carefully crawl over him. Luckily, he isn't as far off the bed as I thought he was. He's laying on his side, one arm outstretched and the other buried under his pillow. It's hard to see him with how dark the room is, but he's limp and relaxed.

I shake him carefully and whisper his name in his ear. A stream of air sucks into his nostrils, but he says nothing. I decide to slip under his covers with him, no matter if he's upset with me or not. I lift his arm up, along with the edge of his blanket, and let the heavy limb fall over me before I burrow into the front of his night shirt. It smells like axe, like he usually does.

With him close I finally feel safe enough to close my eyes, and the rise and fall of his solid chest lulls me to sleep.

**...**

"Where are we going?" a dull voice asks for the five thousandth time since we left Token's house. It's Saturday, and the brilliant sun is sinking behind mountains and darkened rooftops.

"You'll s-see when we get there," I assure him quietly wile tugging on the front of my dark jacket. We're walking close. My elbow bumps against his side as we lazily slink across the black asphalt of the street. He doesn't bump back, but I assume it's because he's still mad about last night.

"Don't like surprises," the giant reminds me blandly.

"Oh, you don't like anything," I huff back with attitude. "You'll get over it."

He smirks at my feisty response, those thin lips quirking upwards in the cutest way. The way he moves beside me makes my heart pound hard against the fragile cage of my ribs. I'm so tempted to reach out and hold his hand. Cling to him. Hold him. Kiss him.

But I don't.

I can't.

Street lights begin to flicker aglow as we continue on. He's starting to gripe silently to himself about how long we've been walking. I can tell by the twisted look he's wearing, though I don't say anything to assure him of how close we are. I can see it now, the small sign posted along the walkway. It reads _Wild Cat Park_ in big purple letters, accompanied by a similarly colored logo of a tiger's face. It's new, unfamiliar, like the wooden playhouse shaped like a submarine. I take a sharp turn at said sign, veering off to a thin path made of pebbles. With a small grin, I listen to the noises Craig's shoes make when they scrape across pavement to catch up with me. Soon, gravel is crunching under his soles, too.

The park is being overcome with darkness, seeing as how the sun has nearly left us completely. The messy streaks of pink and orange littering the sky are the only remnants left of it's bold colors. Now, a light pole flicks on in the center of the park by the gazebo. We're attracted to its steady glow like moths to a porch lamp.

"It's already getting cold," Craig scolds quietly. By the time I lean up against the light pole those brilliant colors above us have started fading away.

I tug at the collar of the jet black fabric encasing my body. "Well, what do you think I told you to pack blankets for?"

The giant looks down at me with a suspicious stare before averting his gaze up to the birth of twilight. "When you said we would spend the night together this isn't what I had in mind."

I know, Craig. I know.

I swallow hard before working up the courage to take a shaky grip of his hand. The fingers I'm squeezing are limp. Short, black bangs brush against a familiar brow line as Craig tips his head to its side. Curiosity peeked and eyes round like an intrigued animal, he trails behind my tiny frame.

We venture into the landscape. Tall blades of grass crunch under our weight, and nocturnal bugs chirp familiar songs; the same songs we danced to when we were small. Eventually, I spot the silhouette of a tall, pointed structure set apart from the fading colors of the sky. It sends a pang of joy through my core just seeing it still standing tall despite how time has changed this place.

I let go of him to run towards the plaything, my legs kicking under me hard and my small hands reaching out to grab the pole underneath the rocket. I snatch it. My arm jerks as it catches my weight, and I swing around the old metal pipe with the lax limb.

"What are you doing?" He asks cautiously. The looming frame of my best friend stands off to the side as he scans the tall toy with unsure eyes. He jerks the falling strap of his duffel back up over his shoulder. I toss mine up into the hole.

"Come catch me, then you'll find out," I giggle like a mischievous child. Before he can question me yet again, I take a strong grip on the pole and hoist myself up into the spacecraft's hull.

When I emerge from the floor, my excited gaze meets a sight that had always been so magnificent to me: the insides of our childhood space shuttle. We spent countless hours within these metal walls battling hostile alien lifeforms throughout the universe, saving entire galaxies from certain doom, and taking naps when we tuckered ourselves out. This is where it all truly began.

Maybe that's why I'm so devastated.

The floor that was once a shining silver is now dull and worn, metal that at one time seemed so thick and strong has given into spots of rust, and the tall, sturdy walls of our faithful spacecraft have been littered with crude phrases made of sharpie ink and spray paint. The wear and tear is old and expected, but the vandalism is fresh and makes my face twist up.

After hearing a low and disgruntled grunt, I peek down the hole I crawled up in only to find a confused titan staring back at me. He's crouched underneath the vessel, peeking inside with a pathetic frown.

"W-what's the matter?" I ask teasingly. "Come get me."

"I'm too big to fit," he explains while popping his head in from the hole in the floor. His broad shoulders get caught between the mouth of the entrance and the pole, and he wiggles to prove there's no way he's getting in through there. I smile to myself, realizing how much he's grown since we were spacemen.

Blue eyes look up into the dingy room with little emotion. He just stares as if he'd never seen this place before.

"What are we doing here?" he asks, squinting his eyes to see in the darkness.

"Playing a game," I reply with a quirk of a grin.

Crawling over to the man lodged in the floor, I reach out and take his head in my hands before leaning forward and kissing him roughly. He easily gives into my advances despite how cold he's been to me all day, but I deprive him of my mouth when he dips forward to claim it.

He looks at me with a frustrated cock of his brow when I back away from the hole, leaving him stuck there alone. My grin only widens as I press myself against the vandalized wall of the space shuttle.

"C-come get me."

Again, he huffs like an angry bull. He stubbornly jerks upwards to try to squeeze into the small space. The metal tugs at the clothes hugging his body as he pushes himself up, and he gets snagged just as his shoulders get through. A deep and frustrated grumble resonates from his throat when he can't get in any further. Defeated, he sinks back down until only the upper half his head is peeking in.

"You look so sad," I chuckle. "Come on, you can do it."

His hand pokes up beside his face. It's sporting a middle finger, which only makes me laugh harder.

He tries coming in with both arms up, effectively bypassing his thick shoulders and hoisting himself slowly inside. His ribs slide in without a problem, and in rebellion of my teasing he grabs for my ankles. I squeak before pulling my thin legs up and away from his strong grasp. A deep, menacing snicker of a laugh rolls from his throat. I hop up off the floor with a yelp when he lunges for me, but the cloth around his hips gets snagged just long enough for me to scurry up the ladder and into the control room.

I dodge behind the caption's chair, seeing as it's the only thing I can hide behind, but it's so small it's not doing me much good. I hear him moving around underneath me, then the metal I'm sitting on vibrates with a loud thunk.

"... Ow," comes a pained whimper from under the floor.

You're too tall to stand up in here, you gigantic goof.

There's rustling, and then the sound of his boots scuffing the thin metal bars I just scrambled up. When he gets to the top he has to squeeze past the yellow railing encasing the entrance, making him twist his body awkwardly.

"You aren't very good at hiding," he points out monotonously despite the small smirk spreading across this usually blank expression. Realizing he's right, I grumble to myself.

"Not from you. It's l-like you can smell my fear."

He murmurs a raspy kind of laughter as he pivots his hips and slips past the yellow safety bars. I climb up into the caption's chair and rub the heal of my sneaker into the metal floor. The ceiling was made with kids in mind, not Godzillas, so he moves through the vessel in a crouched and uncomfortable looking position.

He takes a seat on the floor beside me. Crossing his legs Indian style, a sigh slips out of his throat, and his blue orbs scan the dimmed scenery outside our spacecraft's open windshield. The moon is rising in place of the sun. Stars hang low from the dark blue atmosphere, twinkling beautifully through the fog of clouds, and the tall trees and mountain sides are mere silhouettes painted onto the sky. It's beautiful, just how I was hoping it would be.

"So," Craig begins from his seat beside me. "Why are we here?"

"I'm taking you to the moon."

He pauses for a moment before looking to me with a twisted mouth and pinched eyebrows. It's apparent he doesn't understand.

The thin, shaky line of my mouth parts to mutter, "I bet your foot is bigger than Neil's."

Silence fills the spacecraft, and his cocked expression wavers. After a thick breath and the mounting tension, he only has one word to utter in response.

"Foot," he mimics in bewilderment.

I catch myself snorting out an ugly laugh, so I stifle the sound with my hands.

"I'm taking you to outer space and all you have to say is _foot_?" I force out through my giggle fit.

His cheeks tint a shade of pink before he shies away in embarrassment. I can't help but smile at the side of his pierced face. Craig, on the other hand, doesn't seem nearly as amused with the situation as I am.

"Okay," I chuckle while gripping either side of the space shuttle's steering wheel. "Do you want to do the countdown?"

He says nothing, and after a long while I look over my shoulder at the crouching man. His face looks almost sullen in the dark tint of the night.

"Fine, I'll do it."

I press an assortment of random buttons on the dashboard before pulling back on the steering wheel, which does not move.

"Ten, nine, eight, s-seven."

"Tweek," a voice interrupts my counting.

I chose to ignore it, and as I continue on my voice gets louder and louder, more excited, more ready.

"five, four, three, two!"

"Baby, stop."

"One!" I slam my foot down on the gas hard, as if this rusty toy is less like a rocket and more like a time machine. If I count loud enough, if I press hard enough, something will ignite, and everything will be as it was before. Everything will be like it was when we were happy. However, when I look back into the eyes of my lover, they are not the full, bright blue ones I remember from when I was younger. They're still the hard and narrow orbs of ice worn down by time.

"Nothing's going to happen," he utters with a wavering gaze. "It's just a playhouse."

I look away, back out of the open hole that's supposed to be a windshield. The stars are shining with their lovely specks of light, twinkling, just like always. The night sky seems to be the one thing that will always remain the same.

Still, I can't touch it anymore.

He takes a seat beside the captain's chair, one leg crossing over the other as he tries to make room for his massive body. A hand reaches out and gently grips my thigh. It seems to be the only way he knows how to comfort me anymore. The skin on the back of his fingers is rough and worn, and the mountains that are his knuckles are scarred and ugly from years of abuse.

Time has taken its toll on us in awful ways.

No. He's wrong. This is not just a toy. We are not just people. This was a rocket. We were spacemen. We reached out with chubby fingers to grip the edges of stars, and our doe-eyes saw more of the vast universe than any astronaut could ever hope to.

We are not just people, and this has never just been a playhouse. Though he won't admit it, his paper crow proved that he feels the same.

"Close your eyes," I order.

"Tweek-"

"Close them..."

He exhales thickly, but, after a moment's hesitation, obeys for my sake. He looks weird sitting there. The darkness engulfing the room is combatted only with the light of stars, shrouding most of him in shadows.

Again, I begin the countdown. Gripping the steering wheel and steadying myself, I bring an invisible radio to my mouth, mimicking the sound of static before requesting permission to enter the airspace. He stays quiet, his eyes still closed and face emotionless.

"Spaceman Tweek to Huston, are you prepared for liftoff? Sshhhhhhff," I ask into my invisible radio.

"Sshhhfff, Huston to Spaceman Tweek, you have the all clear," I reply to myself in a deep, raspy voice, which makes Craig finally crack the smallest of smiles.

Again, I press a random assortment of buttons on the dashboard and prepare myself for a bumpy ride, accompanying each button press with the appropriate _boop_ sound. Clasping my small fists around the steering wheel, I try the countdown again. I feel more encouraged hearing a quiet, yet amused, puff of breath to my left.

"Ten, nine, eight..."

I gently pat the soles of my sneakers against the metal floor, mimicking the shaky vibrations of starting engines. As the countdown continues, I slam my feet harder and harder, making the floor quiver more violently.

"Six, five, four..."

His hand is still gripping my leg, and his eyes are clamped shut tight. He knows what I'm doing. He can feel me moving, but he's trying. The tightening grip of his meaty fingers gives me hope.

"Three, two, one... Liftoff!" I pause to badly mimic the sound of roaring engines, to create the streams of blazing hot fire and billowing clouds of smoke that I seem to be able to see much better than he can.

The moment his eyes snap open, our little vessel's powerful engines have done their job, and we're being catapulted outside of the atmosphere. The stars are now little more than thin white ribbons zipping by our windshield as we reach full speed, blasting through the dark void at faster than the speed of light.

"You see that?" I ask excitedly, jabbing my finger towards the beauty outside.

"See what?" he comments, seemingly without interest, before adding, "The stars, or your horrible piloting?"

"Shut up, you ass!" I shove him hard, but I'm laughing harder. That doesn't turn out to be the best combination when I spill out of my seat and onto him. He shakes his head at me while I lay half in his lap and half on the chair, but I'm so happy I don't even care.

"And so you let go of the wheel."

"It's on autopilot! C'mon, we have to prepare for our landing!"

I struggle to scramble from his lap, and he only watches me sputter with a faint smile. Jumping from the floor, I bolt for the ladder leading back down into the ship's underbelly. He lazily crawls after me. My humongous best friend finds it hard to move around since the room is much too small for him, but he does his best to keep up with me.

"We already have our space gear packed!" I remind him. "You got the blankets and pillow- those'll be our gear to p-protect us from the freezing cold. Moon nights will make you a popsicle, man!"

Craig listens without a word while we ascend into the hull. My bag is laying on the floor next to the escape hatch. Snatching the kitten covered thing, I pull it open and begin digging through it. He tilts his head when my clenched fist emerges, squeezing something tight, only to drop whatever it is I've retrieved into my pocket.

"We'll be there soon. Zip up your suit, spaceman Craig," I order before leaning forward and doing so myself, latching the zipper of his blue hoodie and zipping it all the way up to his chin. "It'll help keep you w-warm."

He says nothing, and does nothing, as I affectionately smooth out the cloth with trembling fingers. Our spaceship rocks and quivers as we enter the moon's pull. It doesn't come as a shock. This poor old thing has weathered so much over time I'm surprised it even launched.

When we land, I slide down the escape hatch with bag in hand. He stands at the top staring down at me, unsure and confused.

"Come on! Slide down the hatch, hurry!"

He looks around the yellow slide before sitting. The metal frame is almost too small for his hips to fit in, but he manages to make it to the bottom without getting stuck. He looks around, seemingly unimpressed before stepping onto the lunar surface. I try to match his stride, though I end up having to take a massive and unnatural step to come close to where his foot landed.

"One small step for Craig, one giant leap for Teacup."

Again, he tries to fight a smile as he shakes his head at me. I guess it's lame to make space jokes in space.

"I don't remember the moon being so... green," he says while kicking at the grass under his feet.

"Huh? I don't see anything green," I utter before looking around curiously. "Only white, gray, and black... hey, stop kicking up the space dust."

He looks at me with a cocked brow, though he does as I say.

"I heard there are parasites on the moon. Flesh eating ones that crawl in your skin and make you lose your mind," he utters as we start off away from our ship. We're in search of Neil Armstrong's landing site, though I'm sure it will be hard to find in this barren wasteland of nothing but rock and dust.

"Pfft. Where t-the hell did you hear that?" I ask with a disbelieving chuckle.

"I saw it in a movie one time."

I roll my eyes despite my smile. "Because what you see in movies is always true."

We wander about the dusty surface in search of Neil's craft, though so far we've only found rocks, rocks, and a couple more rocks. There's no sign of life anywhere around us, with the exception of our own foot prints.

At least not until we spot the gleam of an unfamiliar spacecraft in the distance. It's large, black, and round like a tire. We're just close enough to make out some odd shapes etched into the craft's side. It seems to be some sort of language, though it's nothing I've ever seen.

"What is _that_ thing?" I question in shock.

"What? What thing?" Craig asks before looking ahead of us with a tilted head. "The jungle gym?"

"That doesn't look like any jungle gym to me! It looks like a ship, though it's definitely not from earth... I wonder what aliens would be doing on the moon."

"Hm... I'll go in and check it out," he decides while stepping forward.

"Oh, goodness. Please, please be careful in there. There could be any race of alien aboard that ship, and who knows if they're friendly!"

"Don't worry, I'll be alright," he assures before crouching down and heading towards the seemingly deserted spacecraft. I wait at a distance rather impatiently while he hesitantly crawls up into the underbelly. I start rubbing my upper arms for warmth. It's starting to get cold out here.

Time passes, and he still hasn't come out. I begin to fidget in worry, gnawing on my thumbnail as I watch the hatch for his return. Eventually, my companion does emerge from the bottom of the mysterious ship, though he's limping. A pained grimace is twisted onto his face as he struggles to keep himself up.

"Craig?!" I shout as he falls to his knees. I run to him, and help him lean back against the unfamiliar craft. He hisses in pain as his back presses against the oddly smooth metal. "Are you alright? What happened in there?!"

"It was deserted. Swarming with these small white larvae. I think they're parasitic," he says lowly. "Tweek, you'll have to go on without me."

"No, Craig! I'm not leaving you!" I holler while pulling hard on the sleeve of his spacesuit. "We're in this tog-gether, remember? Get up!"

"It's over for me," he utters in a small, quiet voice. "They got under my skin. If you don't go, they'll infect you, too."

"No, no. You're staying with me, do you hear me?" I demand. "We're s-staying together!"

"I said... run..."

His heavy blue eyes slide closed. His thick jaw goes slack. His massive body is heavy. All is silent.

"C-Craig?" I whimper pitifully. Shoving his shoulder gently seems to be the only way I can think to wake him from his parasite induced coma, but it doesn't do much good.

I squeal when a strong pair of arms launch up and grab for me. I stumble back and away, landing pitifully on the dusty lunar surface. He rises slowly to his feet, towering stories above me. His face is an emotionless mask. It's almost inhuman how blank and unreadable it's become.

"S... Spaceman Craig?" I mutter in fear.

"I told you I'd get ya," he grumbles in a low, rumbling voice. A dark and mischievous grin spreads across his sharp features.

"No!" I laugh once he's darted down and ensnared me in his grasp. I struggle to free myself of his clutches, twisting and squealing as he chuckles at my expense. "I d-don't wanna be an alien mind slave!"

I manage to work my hands underneath his arms, wiggling the tips of my fingers against his hairy pits. He slaps a hand over his mouth to conceal his bubbly chuckles, but I spare the alien spawn no mercy. He lets me go before falling back on his butt, arms curling in on his torso in a vain attempt at thwarting my counter-attack.

Soon, he's bursting with uncontrollable laughter.

I didn't know his lungs were still capable of making such a noise. It's such a rare, thunderous sound that I find myself caught completely off guard. However, I use this as an opportunity for escape. While the infected giant is stunned, I take off as fast as my feet will allow.

I can make out a large crater jutting high from the ground. I run right towards it, pushing off last minute to veer into a different direction. The wild creature slams his shoulder into the side of the crater, but it isn't long before he's recovered from the blow and is on my tail again. It's no use running. He's six feet of solid muscle, and my head only comes up to his ribs. He'll get me. He'll get me and it'll all be over.

I pump my legs as hard as I can and run around every obstacle to try to deter him. However, this plan is foiled when my foot snags on a moon rock, though the rest of me keeps going. I tumble into the dust, rolling and screaming at the top of my lungs. Craig practically dives onto me. His knees hit the ground with a thunk on either side of my legs, and his big hands shoot down to hold my squirming body still.

"It'll only hurt for a minute," he chuckles darkly. I kick and squeak to try to fight him away, but laughter bubbles out of me when he drops his heavy body on top of me and buries his face in my neck.

He starts giving me kisses.

"Ah! No! Not kisses!" I shriek. I'm wriggling the best that I can under his weight, but I'm cocooned. His teeth sink into the skin over my jugular, nipping at it roughly.

"Ouch!" I chuckle. "You're crawling with alien larva, not a vampire!"

He lifts up, staring at me.

"What's that in your hair?" He asks suddenly, though monotonously.

"H-huh? W-What?! Is it a bug?! Get it out, Craig! Get it out!"

"Oh, calm down," he scolds softly, pinching whatever it is in his fingers. He brings his hand in front of his face before opening his digits. "It was snow."

We both look up. The sky has been darkened to a pitch black state by distant clouds, and little white flakes drift down in a light snow shower that interrupts our play.

"AH! Space dust!"

I lurch out from under him, completely forgetting the infectious parasites that are now surely crawling under both of our skin.

"Hey!" He shouts while jumping to his feet and jogging after me. "Why are we panicking!?"

"Space dust will get stuck in your lungs and slowly suffocate you! GAH! Holy shit man it's the most awful way to go!" I cry out. "I can't die this way! It's t-too much pressure!"

As we jog past our spaceship, I order Craig to retrieve our bags. He does so. I don't slow down in the slightest, though, so he trips over himself to catch back up with me.

"Where are we going!?"

"I don't know! Anywh-" I stop in my tracks, causing Craig to step on the breaks before he manages to run me over. He comes to a bounce of a stop behind me, looking up and squinting into the darkness, confused.

"Do you see that, Craig?" I ask quietly, earnestly.

"What? I don't see anything," his head jerks around as he scans the falling snow. His voice is a bit high pitched and labored from all the excitement.

"There, don't you see it?" I point ahead of me towards a white metal structure standing amidst white dust and moon rocks.

"The... playhouse?" he asks slowly while leaning forward and squinting at the wooden thing. He knows it's the wrong answer.

"That's no play house!" I shout before grabbing his hand and pulling him forward. "It's the Eagle! Neil's ship!"

Craig chuckles as we venture onward towards the vaguely familiar craft. We set up camp inside by making a pallet out of the few materials we brought, including the comforter Token let us borrow, though he didn't even bother to ask us why we'd need such a thing.

Here enveloped in said comforter and his arms I feel so safe and warm despite the sudden falling of snow outside. He adjusts the edge of the blanket laying across my chest as I watch the white flakes flutter past the open holes making up the pretend windows of the playhouse, or spaceship, rather. Most everything is black in the distance, the thick puffs of snow being the only things illuminated by the nearby light pole. His hands continue smoothing out the puffy fabric laying over my ribs even though I think he's got it as straight as it can be. He's propped up on his elbow, resting his head on the ball of his other palm. I smile tiredly at him before rubbing the sleepies out of my eyes, but he doesn't smile back. He just idles there, watching me blankly.

"W-what are you staring at me like that for?" I mutter with a puff of groggy breath.

He looks away in embarrassment, though he still answers. "It's been... a really long time since I heard you laugh like that. Really long time..."

I give him a crooked, lazy grin. "Yeah... It's been a long time since I really heard you laugh at all..."

"That's what happens when you grow up, I guess," he replies quietly.

I shake my head. I don't think growing up means changing into what we have. I don't think it means forgetting what it was like to need help to reach the counter, or feeling warm asphalt under bare toes in the summertime. I don't think it means giving up on happiness, either.

"Do you remember when we first met?" I ask thoughtfully through the chilly October air.

Craig takes a moment to contemplate the question. "No... You've just always been with me."

I can't help but smile at that.

"Aw... Well, I do. I was sitting by myself on the merry-go-round when you came out of nowhere and started pushing. You asked if my name was Twig."

"Huh? Fuck, how old were we then, like six? I can barely remember what happened yesterday, let alone a damn decade ago."

"What _do_ you remember?"

He goes quiet a moment before laying his head down on his arm and stretching out beside my cocoon of blankets.

"I remember..." he recounts groggily, "the sun being bright and the way the grass smelled... the sounds we made when we played together. _Pew pews_ and giggling."

"And?"

"I remember how happy I made you..." he mutters quietly with closed eyes, almost as if he's watching videos of us as children behind his lids. "I don't know when I stopped doing that."

I flinch. His eyebrows furrow together, but he can't seem to rummage deep enough in his mind to find the answers he's looking for.

"I forgot all about playing spaceman until you wrote me my song..."

"Hm. You mean that dumb little poem thing?" I mutter with a sigh.

"It's not dumb," he says firmly. "I wrote a lot of songs for a lot of people, but nobody's ever wrote one for me..."

"Oh..."

His eyes fix onto my face. I jerk a little when cold fingertips find the warmth of my chin. They trickle up my jaw to my cheekbone, where the coarse pad of his thumb rubs along the bag beneath my lashes. Everything gets blurry, and I start seeing double when his rough digit carefully presses on the edge of my lids.

"What're you doing?" I chuckle lightly. Reaching up with a small hand, I clasp some of his fingers in my trembling grip.

"...I'm trying to understand," he admits in a shush of a breath.

I tilt my head in the cloth of our pillow. "Understand what?"

His gaze grows softer. His thumb lifts from the corner of my eye, relieving it of his gentle touches and restoring my vision.

"What you see when you look at me." His scarred knuckles timidly caress loose strands of my hair.

I give him a funny look, my eyebrows knitting together. "I see you. What else would I see?"

His face twists slightly at my answer, thin lips cocking awkwardly. "See."

He looks away in thought. It's always been hard for him to get the things in his head out of his mouth, especially when it comes to more emotional subjects. I can see how much of a struggle it is just for him to form his own words rather than mimic mine.

He breathes out a low puff. Suddenly, he seems so distressed. "You can't be seeing me..."

"W-why not?" I ask in genuine concern.

"Cause I'm not worth this," he finally admits. His eyes have an odd shine to them, and his lips are tight as they curl into a frown. "When you look at me your eyes get all bright, just the like they did when we were kids. It's like you're looking at something special, but I'm not special. I'm not different. I'm just another lying piece of shit who couldn't keep his hands to himself."

Nothing fills the air between us besides the familiar, distant echo of a barking dog and my stunned silence. I think about opening my mouth to reply, but my tongue is dry and lips only part awkwardly.

His arm goes limp over my torso, but his hand finds my upper arm. His fingers fiddle with the fabric of my sleeve. "Just tell me... Why is it that when all I ever do is make you cry, you still try so hard to make me happy?"

I lay still for a moment before thinking to reach into my pocket. My hand emerges, clasping my fingers into a fist. I reach it out to him. His own, much larger, hand comes out underneath mine, and I drop a small, green, plastic star into his palm.

He rolls the shape around in question until his face falls drastically. He realizes what it is, and he remembers where it's from.

His thick fingers straighten out, flattening as the small star lay comfortably in the center on his palm. The last time he clutched to the plastic his fingers were much smaller, and it's obvious his mind has wandered back to when we were innocent. To when we were happy. It fits differently in his palm now, though he and I still fit together just the same.

"Because that's what you do when you're in love with somebody," I finally confess.

He swallows thickly at my answer. Despite the lost look he's sporting, I keep smiling. I keep smiling, because I'd rather him not see me cry. With a stone face, he gets on his knees. It's a surprise when the giant climbs over top of my blanket-covered form and lies down on top of me. My arms slide up over his shoulders and wrap around his neck, holding him tenderly while he buries his face in my chest.

His breath is thick and heavy as I comb my fingers up under his hat. He lifts his head the slightest bit so he can see my face through the brim of his short bangs. I place a soft kiss on his forehead.

**...**

"Don't yell," a familiar voice utters from somewhere nearby. I rub my eyes before looking around the room to find Craig sitting up beside me. He's facing away, but I can still see the very tip of his long nose from the edge of his cheekbone. He's shivering. White wisps seep from his mouth as he speaks into his phone, and he's curled tight against his legs.

I sniffle through a runny nose before retreating further into my blankets, where our body heat's been thankfully trapped.

"No... I already told you where I am... If you'd just listen for five seconds-" he pauses abruptly. "I said don't _fucking_ yell at me."

He sounds infuriated. So infuriated that I slide my head further under my covers in fear.

He groans. "I'll be home in like an hour, alright? Get your balls out of a knot."

With that, he hangs up his phone in the middle of a reply while shaking his head.

"Craig?" I mutter from our sheets. I try to climb out, but bitter cold air seeps into my skin like numbing needles.

He turns his head back at me, the light pole outside casting an odd glow across him.

"Tweek..." he utters quietly. "I'm gonna take you home now, okay?"

"Um... Okay," I reply groggily. Tightening my jacket around me, I crawl out from under the blankets and reach for my knapsack. Craig gets to work packing all of our stuff back up.

"Who was that?" I ask. "On the phone, I mean."

"My dad," he mutters tonelessly. "My phone was on silent. They called like twelve times. Guess they're out looking for me."

I frown. "Y-you're in trouble?"

A scoff slips from his teeth. "Like always. Let me carry that."

He takes my bag from me before tossing it over his other shoulder. I get up and wander to the door, but stop abruptly.

"T-there's snow everywhere!" I blurt while looking out at the thick white blanket that most definitely wasn't there when I dozed off.

"It didn't stop," he says. Standing up, he carries each of our bags on his back like a pack mule. "You ready?"

"N-no! I'm wearing Crocs!" I cry out. "My feet will get frost bite by time we make it to my house!"

"Sandals in October?" he questions with the cock of his brow.

"Well, I didn't think it'd snow!"

He sighs before stepping forward and leaning down, snatching me off of my feet like a bride and cradling me against his chest. It's so much colder than it was when we fell asleep. I huddle close in his hoodie for warmth, but it does little for my freezing toes. His big boots leave tracks from the playhouse to the street, where he bounces me up to get a better hold. I can't even see the sidewalk in all the mess, only watered down slush on the street from where cars have been driving back and forth over the snow.

I wipe at my eyes with one hand and cling to him with another. Dead silence rings out between us and the lifeless looking houses we pass by. Cars sit empty in their driveways, every window is dark, and the fresh layer of snow remains untouched with the exception of tire marks and Craig's tracks.

When we make it to the end of the road, he stops as a white truck putts by us. I sneeze into my sleeve and sniffle sickly. It's hard to keep warm with the snow still floating down upon us in thick clusters. I'll end up with a cold for sure.

"You'll be home soon," he promises while carrying me across the road.

A couple more cars pass by us in the midst of the snow shower, but one takes more interest than the others had. A dark SUV slows down as it comes closer to us. Craig ignores the vehicle, even as it passes by only to pull into a neighbor's driveway and turn around. It's engine growls as it creeps along down the street, coming up beside us and lowering it's window.

"What the fuck are you doing out here, boy? Your mother's been worried sick all damn night," a voice barks from said SUV. I peek up around my legs and Craig's arm to see a familiar man in the driver's seat. A familiar man who is wearing a winter coat and an angry face. Craig doesn't stop walking. Mr. Tucker doesn't stop following. "Get your ass in this car or I swear to god-"

Craig speeds up a bit. Fresh snow crunches under his soles and white smog seeps from his cold lips.

"I'm taking Tweek home," he informs his infuriated father rather expressionlessly, though his grip on my legs and back tighten.

He looks us up and down, not at all pleased with the sight. "Can't the boy walk his own self home?"

Craig says nothing.

"Fine. Get in the car and we'll drop him off," Thomas orders.

Still, Craig does not stop, and the tires of Thomas's SUV slowly smash slush underneath them.

"We ain't got all night, boy. Get in the fucking car!"

"Fuck you," Craig spits.

Thomas stops his car. Craig stops walking.

The tension between the two is thick and poisonous, though Craig's agitated back talking is no match for Mr. Tucker's dark stare.

With a defeated growl, my companion turns to the black door of his father's vehicle. Carefully, he balances me and our cargo before pulling open the door and gently setting me in one of the passenger seats. I'm still shivering, so he takes my blanket from my bag and drapes it over my thin legs. His father is watching us in his rear view mirror, but Craig doesn't seem to care.

He steps away, slamming the door shut before walking around the SUV and climbing into the front passenger seat. I take a look around the vehicle, feeling a little in awe since I've never been inside this one before. It's rather plane with six seats and all gray leather seats.

A small decoration hangs from the rear view mirror. Clear pieces of plastic house Ruby and Craig's school pictures, each hanging from a silver chain.

"What the hell is the matter with you?" His father spits before stepping on the gas. I wrap myself up in my blanket, though I keep my eyes on the men in the front seat. "You're lucky I found your sorry ass before your mother called the cops."

Craig doesn't reply, only looks out the window as his father blows steam. I can see the man's big hands griping the steering wheel tightly from the edge of his seat, knuckles nearly going white.

"I just don't get it, boy. Why disappear like that knowing damn well you're already in trouble as it is?" Thomas asks bitterly. "I don't know what to do with you anymore."

Craig's breath remains steady as his eyes lock on anything but his father. "Nobody does."

Thomas swallows hard as we travel down the snowy street. "Well we're going to have to change something. Stealing my booze, not coming home at night, fighting with teachers- you know they're only going to put up with your bullshit for so much longer. You think I'm mean, kid? Just wait and see how fucking mean I am if you get yourself kicked out of school."

"What are you gonna do?" Craig sneers. He sneers like he knows his words will sting like a dagger in the heart. " _ _Beat__ me?"

Thomas's infuriated expression wanes into one of shock, and he takes a quick glance at his son. His brows are pinched together. His mouth's pulled down into a frown. The pained look in his eyes is unlike anything I've seen, but Craig isn't looking.

"Hey, you're gonna miss Tweek's turn."

I jerk when the brakes get slammed into the floor. The SUV slides to a stop, luckily just in time for us to turn onto my street without any back tracking.

My house looks just like all the others when we pull into the driveway, barren and lifeless. The windows are all dark. There's not even so much as the light of a television flickering through the living room curtains, though I'm not surprised. My phone says it's two in the morning. My parents are surely sleeping right now, rather than up scouring the town for their missing boy as the Tucker family had been.

The vehicle comes to a stop in my driveway, and not a word is spoken as I push open the door and step out onto the cold snow. My Crocs were definitely not meant for this weather. The cold flakes get kicked up into my shoes as I walk to the front stoop. I grab the handle, but it won't turn.

"What the..."

I turn it again and again only to realize my parents locked me out. They never lock the door when they don't know where I am. Never.

"Mom?" I holler, slamming on the door with a tight fist in panic. I know she won't be able to hear me all the way upstairs in her room, but I can feel Craig and Thomas's eyes on me. This is beyond embarrassing.

I walk around the house, trudging through bitter cold snow and bumping into bushes to get to the back door. Sadly, it's locked as well, along with all the windows I can reach.

Defeatedly, I walk back around to the driveway, where Thomas and Craig still sit in their SUV. Anxiously, I walk up to the car and tap lightly on Mr. Tucker's window with a freezing fingertip. He rolls down the tinted glass as I shiver.

"Ain't your folks waiting up for you?" Thomas asks.

"I... guess they aren't home," I lie in shame. He glances up at their snow covered car that's sitting only a few feet away from where he parked. With a frown, he looks down at my shivering form through the cold, white flakes.

"Get back in," the man grumbles. "You can sleep on the couch."

"Huh? No, it's okay! You don't have to do that. I can just wait for them. I'm s-s... sure they'll be back soon..."

"I ain't leaving no kid out in the cold by himself," Thomas informs me sternly. "Get in before you freeze to death."

I'm taken off guard by his kindness, seeing as how the man never seemed to care much for me. Still, Craig's living room sounds a lot more comfortable than sleeping on the bench in the garage.

"Um... Alright..."


	12. Mother and Child

We walk into the Tucker's kitchen, bringing with us the bitter cold as we shake snow off of our clothes. A tall, blond woman stands from the messy kitchen table. Her body is covered in a silky, floral gown, and her usually dolled up face is devoid of painted color. There are two kids sitting at the table with her. One is the familiar face of Craig's younger sister, Ruby. The other is not so familiar.

Craig's mother comes rushing forward with anger and relief mixed on her features. She had obviously been up all through the night, or at least that's what the slight purple bags under her eyes insinuates.

"Craig? Where on earth have you been!? What part of _come home at nine_ doesn't make sense to you?"

My friend looks down at the floor shamefully, and I immediately find myself feeling guilty.

"This is getting ridiculous. I don't understand why at the very least you didn't text me. How am I supposed to know if you're okay if I don't even know where you are?"

"I'm sorry..." is all he manages to reply with.

She seems to still be in a panic despite having her missing child standing before her. Her fists are clenched tight at her sides, and her eyes look on the verge of spilling over. Still, she steps forward and yanks him hard into an embrace. He seems at a loss at first. His hands hover on either side of her before he wraps them around her torso.

I never realized how much taller he is than her now.

"H-hey," he mutters. "I'm fine, mom. It's alright."

Thomas watches them from behind me in the doorway. His expression is blank and unreadable, just as his son's tends to be.

Craig's mother takes his face in her hands, cupping his rough cheeks in her firm palms.

"Never do that to me again," she demands.

I guess she never knew about all the times he'd snuck out in the middle of the night to come see me throughout our lives, because he'd left without telling them quite a lot on my account. I suppose this time is different since he was already in trouble.

"Yes mam," Craig replies quietly, looking down at his mother with apologetic eyes.

Clyde is standing by the kitchen counter now. He's in pajamas, blue ones with light sabers on them. I can tell by the look on his face that he was caught in the midst of the family's chaos. I'm sure he got drilled for answers seeing as how he left with Craig, but came back Craig-less. It wouldn't have done them any good to try and pry Craig's whereabouts out of Clyde. He didn't have any idea where we were going when we left Token's.

Thomas steps forward before placing a hand on his wife's shoulder, his wife who is still squeezing their eldest son as if someone was about to rip him from her arms.

"We're the only family we have, Craig," I hear her whisper over his shoulder. "If we don't stick together, we'll have nothing left."

He nods slowly, his frame falling low under the weight of her arms.

"Come on, Aliena," Thomas utters while easing her away from her son. "Coddling the boy ain't gonna do 'em no good."

The angry gaze of Mr. Tucker falls onto the boy. Craig seems a lot smaller now. The giant is hunched as he backs away with a few uneasy and shameful steps.

"Okay... Okay," Mr. Tucker begins. It seems to me like he's trying to will himself to speak kindly. "I ain't gonna holler. I'm just gonna tell ya. Our patience has been running thin for a long time, boy. You're an adult now, and you don't even know what that means... You still do all the dumb shit you did when you were fifteen. Stealing, lying, sneaking out, trouble at school- it's all gotta stop."

Ruby stands up from the kitchen table before taking a hold of the hand of the boy who had been sitting with her. The kid runs his hand through his hair, black hair, as he follows her into the living room and up the stairs. Clyde and I watch them go from across the room, but no one else seems to notice.

"Sorry to tell you, son, but you ain't gonna get anywhere in life acting rough and getting in trouble. You need to start thinking about responsibilities. You'll be nineteen soon and you ain't never even had a job," his father mutters from behind Aliena, his hand still on her shoulder. "All you ever do is fuck around with your little friends and pluck on that guitar. You're growing up, Craig. Life isn't just about you anymore. What about about that girl of yours? You can't support a family writing poems, you know."

"They aren't _poems_ ," Craig snaps. "They're song lyrics."

"I don't care what you call 'em, boy. They ain't gonna get you nowhere. You spent your hole life with your head in the clouds. It's about damn time you come down to earth and join the rest of us."

Craig lets out a mean sounding snarl before pushing past his parents, leaving me alone with them in the kitchen as he angrily retreats to his bedroom. His mother hollers after him, worry in her voice as he ignores her and keeps going. Clyde backs away from the counter and gives me a look that almost seems apologetic before chancing after Craig.

Mrs. Tucker sighs sadly to herself before her eyes finally fall onto me. She looks back at Tomas in question. After an awkward moment of silence, he says, "kid's parents weren't home."

I move to follow after my friends, stepping past the Tuckers and heading for the stairs.

"No, no, sweetie," a gentle voice mutters from behind me. A soft hand lands on my shoulder, and I timidly glance back at the woman towering over me. "Craig's being punished. I think it'd be best if you slept down here instead."

Aliena steps in front of me before I have he chance to protest. Her long night gown flows behind her tall, slender frame as she leads me through the dining room and towards the living room.

"You can sleep on the pull out, if you'd like," she offers as we step through the threshold.

Mr. Tucker walks in behind us, and, without anyone waiting to hear my opinion, immediately gets to work pulling out the bed. He pulls the cherry coffee table aside, jiggling around the pride of ceramic lions that call the table home as he moves it out of the way. I stand awkwardly in the middle of the room while they prepare my bed. Mrs Tucker unfolds the plush, tiger stripped blanket from her husband's favorite recliner as he yanks the bed's frame out of the couch.

"There we go," he mutters quietly while the metal frame pops into place. "Might not be the most comfortable mattress you ever slept on, but it's better than a snow drift."

I nod. An awkward, yet grateful, smile pulls at my lips. I always thought Mr. Tucker was just a mean and nasty man, but I guess he can be kind of nice when he wants to be.

Aliena spreads the blanket out over the mattress while yawning to herself. The tiredness in her eyes has caught up with her.

"That should do you fine," she concludes while scratching the back of her head. "If you need anything just go right ahead and get it."

I don't much like the idea of sleeping on this thing. I can just see the morning paper now: _Local teen suffocates to death in freak futon accident._

Still, both of Craig's parents seem to be waiting for me to crawl into bed, and my cold, achy limbs are pleading for me to lie down. I toss my knapsack onto the bed first to test stability. I'm almost expecting it to snap shut like a fly trap, but it doesn't. Unsure, I climb onto the stiff mattress and root up underneath Mrs. Tucker's tiger blanket. If I get eaten by a futon tonight, I hope my parents know it's their fault.

"I'm going to go talk to him..." I hear Aliena mutter from behind me. I keep my eyes closed, and snuggle into the pillow I brought in my bag for Craig and I.

"Yeah, yeah... I'm not too good at getting through to that boy..."

I hear their heavy footsteps wander across the olive colored carpet before a pair suddenly stops somewhere nearby. I lift my head to see Thomas standing in the threshold of the staircase. He's on the very verge of leaving, but something seems to've lingered enough between him and myself for him to hesitate. My round, apple green eyes meet tiredly with his sharp, icy ones, and my guts sink down into the mattress.

His gaze flickers across my face, contemplating quietly just as his son often times does.

"Your parents ain't really been around much, have they?" he asks matter-of-factly, though there's a somberness in his gravely voice I hadn't been expecting.

I look away from him as I try to think of an answer. I suppose I could always be honest, though that would make me look pathetic and my parents look neglectful. Though, I suppose, both of those things would be right to assume.

I nod my head to give validity to his suspicions, but I still feel responsible for making up excuses for them. "They have to work a lot..."

He leaves the room with a nod and no other words, though he flips the light off on his way upstairs. Confused by the short conversation and as tired as I've ever been, I roll over on the futon mattress and stare at the yellow glow seeping into the room from the kitchen light that had thankfully been left on.

I consider calling my mom.

This is when I remember I deleted her number. There are only three I have memorized, and hers isn't one of them.

Within a record ten minutes, I manage to fall fast asleep in the warmth of the Tuckers' living room. Although, it's only about an hour or so later when I'm awoken to someone softly shaking my shoulder. I roll over, making a high pitched whine when I open my eyes. A form is lingering over the green armrest of the pull out couch. I first notice the hands, much smaller than Craig's, but much bigger than Ruby's. My eyes wander up the sleeves of a blue pajama top covered in light sabers, then finally to Clyde's face. His eyes are a little wide, and his eyebrows are knit together with a look of fear and worry.

"Is it okay if I sleep with you?" He asks quietly, the anxiousness in his small voice palpable.

"Um..." I mumble in groggy confusion. "Sure. If you want, I guess."

I can faintly make out Clyde's Adam's Apple bobbing in the dim glow from the kitchen light. He climbs onto the futon before curling up beside me. I'm so tired I can barely see straight, but the fear on Clyde's face keeps me fighting the urge to drift back off. I drape my arm over his shoulder, sighing to myself as he closes his eyes.

"What's the matter?" I coax gently.

"Nothing, I just..." He stops himself.

"You just?" I repeat through the dark.

"Craig's been talking with mom all night, and Ruby had her boyfriend over. I can't sleep alone."

I nod slowly. "I didn't know she had a boyfriend."

"His name's Ike. They've been dating a couple weeks."

"Ah."

For quite some time we lay in silence, at least until he sighs in contemplation. After a few more uneasy moments, he shakily whispers, "You know... Sometimes I think they should take me away like they did Monica."

I blink. Where did _that_ come from?

"...You mean when she went to the hospital?"

He nods.

"Why would you want that?"

He turns his head away from me, seemingly out of shame.

"I'm on medicine now," he admits. "My doctor says I have PTSD, and the scripts are supposed to make me better."

"... PTSD? You mean post traumatic stress?"

He nods solemnly.

That explains a few things.

"They won't take you away because you're struggling," I try to argue through my grogginess. "Seems to me like they're treating you just fine as they are..."

"Sometimes that day happens over and over," he utters as if he didn't even hear me. "I wake up and I see her there, or I'm just doing something usual and when I look up I find her again. I try to help. I never can, though. I can't because she's not real.

"The medicine is supposed to make it stop, but it doesn't. It just makes my stomach hurt."

I frown deeply. My eyes strain to see his face through the blur of tiredness, and he just keeps going.

"They gave her pills to help her, too, and when they didn't work is when they took her away."

"Clyde..." I mutter tenderly. "Your illness is completely different from hers. You're traumatized because you saw something horrible. You don't have schizophrenia."

His lips purse together and his eyes fog, so I stop talking before I say something that hurts him.

"Is that why you're so scared?" I quickly throw in. "D-did you see her again?"

Clyde nearly whimpers, which makes my heart seize in my ribcage.

"I woke up, and I saw that the closet was open," he begins after rubbing his eyes with the ball of his palm. "I couldn't stay in there. Last time I did I freaked out and ended up doing something I still feel bad about."

I grip his shoulder in a quiet reassurance, though I don't say anything to push him along.

He sighs. "For some reason Craig thinks it's his responsibility to look after me, you know? I mean, it's easier when he's around, but when I go back to that day it's like... nothing else exists but her, and I sometimes do things I don't mean to. Last time Craig came to help me I started hitting him. It wasn't him, not in my head. I don't know what he was then, but he tried to pick me up and ended up dropping me."

"'Cause you were hitting him?"

"Because I bit him."

I shiver in my skin.

"He's always rushing home to help me or make sure I'm okay. I'm sick of making his life harder than it has to be. I'm sick of Thomas and Aliena having to pay for my doctors and meds. I'm sick of waking everybody up in the middle of the night because of my idiotic breakdowns..."

"Clyde... you being put away wouldn't make anyone's life easier, y-you know that?"

He doesn't say anything, and after a long moment of silence I finally ask, "...Why are you telling me this, though? I thought you didn't want me to know what was wrong."

Clyde frowned. "We used to tell each other about everything, and after you said you've been seeing somebody I noticed just how far apart we've drifted. I guess I thought that... if I told you my secret, you'd tell me yours, and we could stop trying to deal with things on our own."

My eyes go half lidded, and for the first time in a long time I actually feel... touched.

"Oh..." is all I manage to blurt out. For a moment I actually contemplate just telling him everything. Start from the very beginning and let him in on all the horrible, dirty things I've done. I would feel a lot better that way, but I second guess myself.

He calls Craig his brother.

Who am I to tell Clyde someone he thinks so fondly of has made such awful mistakes.

"Does it have to do with the girl you've been seeing?" he asks hesitantly.

I shake my head. "I lied about that..."

"About sleeping with someone?..."

"No, I have been seeing somebody, but he's not a girl."

Clyde blinks at me, "Okay, and what's the issue with him?"

"... Wh... I j-just said I've been doing... _stuff_ with a _dude_. That doesn't bother you?" I ask timidly.

"No, to be honest I was more surprised when you said it was a girl you slept with," he admitted with a small quirk of his lip. "It makes more sense now, about why you didn't want anyone to know."

"No, it's not... I mean, the whole gay thing might be part of it, but that's not the problem."

"Then what is the problem?"

"Well..." I manage to choke out, "he's with someone."

Clyde takes a moment of silence to contemplate what I've told him, and his face drains of color when an answer dawns on him.

"It's not-" he stops, deciding mid sentence to rephrase his thoughts. When he can't find the words, he opts to simply utter one small and anxious suspicion.

"Craig?"

My mouth is suddenly dry, and my heart is thumping hard against my ribs.

"You can't tell anyone!" I demand through freshly budding tears. "He'd hate me if he found out!"

"Wow, hold on," he utters. The edge of his lip quirks up in an odd way before he says, as if to test the sound on his tongue, "You and Craig?"

I nod hard while biting my bottom lip.

His face falls drastically before he turns away to stare at the ceiling.

"I knew it'd weird you out," I mutter.

Clyde shakes his head.

"I'm not weirded out... Craig's wanted to date you since God knows when."

I blink in surprise before blurting, "Huh?... How would you know something like that?"

"Well," he starts off a little hesitantly, "he told me so."

" _He told you_?" I repeat in obvious disbelief. It took forever to get Craig to admit he felt something for me. I'm going to punch him in the nose if he just came right out and told Clyde.

"Yeah, during freshman year. He told me he had a crush on someone. He was trying to be all weird and cryptic about it, but it wasn't too hard to figure out." He cracks a nostalgic, albeit awkward, grin before shaking his head. "I tried to make him ask you out. He wouldn't do it, though."

I'm left speechless and cotton mouthed. My palms are getting sweaty, and any tiredness I felt before is now gone. Craig was going to ask me out? He confided feelings for me in Clyde all that time ago and I'm just now hearing about it? For the love of God, it could have been me giving him goodbye kisses on the sidewalk. I could be the one blessed with the plastic throne beside his at the lunch table. If he would have asked me out all that time ago, Bebe would have never got to feel him the way only I should.

At least I hope not.

"Why wouldn't he tell me?" I ask a little too eagerly. "I wouldn't have told him no."

"He didn't know that for sure," Clyde explains, "and even if he did, Thomas is weird with that kind of stuff. I think he was more afraid of what dad would have to say, you know?... but, wait... how did this happen?"

I purse my lips together and let my eyes go half lidded before shaking my head. Finally, after all this time, it all comes pouring out. I start from our first kiss in the park and ramble on and on until I find myself narrating Craig and I's last meeting, which, coincidentally, ended in the same place the story began. I tell about every lie, every kiss, and every soul crushing hope that's been ignited in me. It feels so good to finally talk about it after all this time, though it all feels like fire on my tongue.

"I just don't know what to do anymore..." I finally conclude after filling Clyde in on our last lunar encounter. "I don't know what to do..."

He sighs and takes a moment to let it all sink in. "I love you both to death and you know that, but what you guys are doing is... wrong... What about Bebe? What about _you_? You can't keep doing this."

"But I can't stop," I whisper.

"Sure you can," Clyde encourages. "Just tell Craig it's too much for you. It's more than obvious he cares about you. He won't get mad."

"No, you don't get it," I actually whimper, my bottom lip quivering as I rake my spider like fingers through my messy hair. "This is the only way I have to be with him. If I tell him I want to stop, I won't have _anything_ anymore."

Clyde frowns, obviously not liking my answer. "Teacup, this is hurting you bad-"

"Just don't tell anyone, _please_ ," I beg softly . "I know it's not right, but it's what I want."

"How could this possibly be what you want?" Clyde pushes. "Just listen to that crack in your voice. Nobody wants pain like that..."

"It's not all only pain all the time. I can't explain to you what it feels like when he- when he pets my hair or strokes my cheeks. When he kisses me and calls me sweet things. I love him, Clyde. I _love_ him, and - _Agh! Jesus Christ!_ \- I'm not letting him go for anybody!..."

My friend shakes his head at me, but doesn't try to push his opinion any further. Instead, he closes his eyes and breathes in smoothly. "Okay... Okay, I don't like it... but I won't tell anyone..."

**...**

It's been two days since Craig found himself confined to his parent's house. As his punishment, he isn't allowed to hang out with any of us outside of school. That includes both his friends and his girlfriend. They took his cellphone so he couldn't text, too, but they didn't realize his iPod would do just fine for that.

He's been texting me non stop since I left Sunday morning, and I try not to text back too much. He's in trouble, after all! But it's hard not to when all he talks about is how much he misses me. I never imagined him to be the clingy one, but surprisingly it's him who's having the hardest time with our separation.

Last night he sent me text after text.

_My parents are asleep, can I come over?_

Of course, knowing he was already in enough trouble, I promptly responded with a _hell no r u stupid_

Then, it turned into what I can only describe as love sick babbling. He just kept talking about how much he missed me, every message getting more and more intimate.

 _I miss the way you smell,_ he typed _. I miss touching you and tasting you._

I couldn't tell if he was saying those things to be romantic, or turn me on so I'd let him come see me. Probably the second.

I did make him a promise, though, it's one I'm nervous about keeping.

I step out of my room and down the stairs into the living room. I'm still in my pajamas, like usual, as I step into the kitchen and start a fresh pot of coffee. So many messages are being sent to my phone that at first I think it's ringing. I can't help but feel almost smug seeing his name flashing across my screen.

If he's texting her, too, she's not getting nearly as many as I am.

I'm so distracted with my phone that I almost don't notice the paper sack sitting on the counter. Lowering my device, I stare blankly at the brown thing for a few moments. It has my name on it. Last time a phenomenon like this occurred I got my froggy thermos cup ( _now pencil holder thing)_ with love. That encourages me to step forward and take it in my hands with more confidence than I did last time.

As I start to unravel the bag, I hear a loud and startling cough from the living room.

"J-Jesus Christ," I mutter in nervousness. Surely my parents aren't here this late in the morning.

I peek into the living room to find a lump on the couch I hadn't noticed before. It's person shaped and covered in a poorly made quilt.

"Mom?" I ask nervously.

The lump shifts at the sound of my voice, but says nothing in reply. With a wavering frown I make my way across the room. I jerk when I stomp on a pill organizer meant to last through the week. I pick the plastic thing up off the floor, investigating the little compartment marked _WED_.

"Mom, why haven't you been taking your pills?..."

She huffs quietly from under her blanket, and I hesitantly decide to take a seat on the floor beside her.

"Why aren't you at work?"

We sit in silence as she shifts, moving the blanket away from her face. I think this is the first time I've ever seen her without makeup on. She looks pale and sick without rosy blush on her cheeks, the same as Bebe has recently. She reaches out and touches my face. It's a gentle gesture I haven't felt since I was a little boy.

"Mommy didn't feel good today, so she stayed at home," mom explains like I won't be able to understand if she doesn't simplify. "Don't forget your lunch on your way to the bus, dear."

"... I haven't rode the bus since I was fifteen, mom..."

"Oh..."

"... you should take your medicine," I say while popping open one of the little plastic containers. I drop the pills into my palm, but she refuses to take them from me.

"I don't want them anymore," she utters, pushing my hand away with the shake of her head.

I don't know what to say, so I end up sitting quietly beside her. The clock on the wall is counting down the moments until I'll have to go to school, and my mom doesn't seem to be feeling any better as time drones on.

"... How about I stay home and take care of you?" I offer despite her never staying home from work to do the same for me.

"No," she decides with closed eyes. "Go get ready, or you'll be late."

I don't think she realizes I _am_ ready, but I don't hold it against her. She rarely ever sees me before I leave for school, so she doesn't notice I'm too sad in the morning to worry about changing out of my pjs.

I stand up, paper bag in hand, and set her pill dispenser on the coffee table on my way to the kitchen. The washed out look she's wearing this morning is unfamiliar to me, and I don't know how to put the color back on her face. Realizing I am of no help to her, I feel both saddened and relieved.

Just as I mix my favorite coffee into a thermos, the sound of a car horn blares outside my door. Token must already be waiting for me.

I leave hesitantly out the back door, squeezing the paper bag in my hand. I look back into the still air of my house, second guessing whether or not I should leave her here alone. It's been a long time since my mom had an episode, but her pills are what's been keeping her stable. They're what helps her stay perfect.

Wordlessly, I slip into the back of the car. Token looks back at me with a small grin.

"Hey," he greets a little more chipper than usual. "Good morning!"

I smile back before he returns his eyes to the road. We roll out of my driveway and onward towards the Tuckers' dysfunctional residence.

"You're happy today," I notice aloud. "What's up?"

His eyes scrunch in the rear view mirror, the way they always do when he smiles. "Not too much, Nichole just texted me."

"And?" I question as I dig into the paper sack my mom left for me.

"She says she'll come with us," Token rejoices. He goes on to say he's planning to ask her back out, but this mysterious sack is distracting.

There's a lunch inside like she said there would be. It looks like a peanut butter sandwich with the crusts cut off. I'm taken a little aback remembering the only time I ever asked for such a thing. There's also a little baggy of sliced apples and a bottle of water. Those small lunch affects aren't what's caught my attention, though.

In the very bottom of the bag, underneath little Craig's favorite sandwich, is a white envelope. I pull it out to investigate. Token is still going on about Nichole.

 _When I'm sad I remember when we first met_ is scrawled across the back of the parchment. It doesn't make much sense. Maybe this was meant for someone else.

Despite my doubt, I open the unsealed flap on the back of the envelope and pull out its contents. There's only one thing inside. It's a faded old photo I don't remember seeing before. The poor thing is creased and worn with time, like someone had been carrying it around in a wallet for years.

It's my mom.

She looks a lot younger than she does now. She doesn't have any wrinkles, and her hair is long and puffy. She's siting up in a bed. A blue gown that's too big for her hangs around her much more slender shoulders as she holds a small, blue bundle against her chest.

It's a baby.

I stare blankly for a long time as Token continues his enthusiastic rambling. I don't know what this is. I don't know what it means. I don't know why she gave it to me.

Light shines brightly through the car's windows for a moment, illuminating the old photo enough to shine in my eyes. With a grimace, I flip the thing over to the matte backside.

With a hard gulp, my thumb runs over black ink I hadn't expected to find there.

_I want you to remember, too._

"We could definitely-... hey, what's wrong?" Token asks. His voice changes from pure bliss to deep concern the moment he catches part of my face in his mirror.

"N- agh! It's nothing." I wipe the tears away from my cheeks before quickly, but carefully, sliding the picture back into the envelope.

I regret not staying at home. Talking to mom is never easy, but it'll be even harder once she starts taking her medication again.

**...**

"This weekend, this _weekend_ , _this weekend_!~" Clyde sings enthusiastically as we all sit around the breakfast table. "We're gonna party this weekend!~ Food and movies and friends and _food_. I'm so excited!"

Token chuckles at our friend's enthusiasm, but I only grimace to myself as I look down at my pathetic meal. I have a doughnut soaking in a little plastic bowl of chocolate milk. I stab it with my fork.

No one notices my subtle gesture. The rest of the table just goes on about their Halloween business. Clyde is nearly squealing with excitement.

He's been paying a lot more attention to Craig and I recently. Even now, even though he's excited and going on about what a great time we'll all have this weekend, he keeps looking my way. He watches every subtle touch or small laugh. He frowns at every turn of my head to keep myself from seeing her kiss him or give him a hug. Yes, I almost wish now that I never told Clyde about the horrible affair Craig and I are involved in. I can tell just by the looks we get that his brain is working in overdrive on my behalf. He doesn't like seeing his Teacup being sad. However, the saddest thing here is the occasional disappointed stare he gives to his brother.

When we first all came back to school on Monday, Craig sat back and pulled Bebe flush against himself right in front of me. He kissed her on the cheek as she giggled. He's not allowed to see her, or any of us, outside of school on account of his not coming home Saturday night, so he was sure to make up for all the affection he wouldn't be able to give throughout the week.

Clyde kept his eyes on Craig throughout the entire display, his head tilted ever slightly with furrowed brows.

Now, though, I'm in my rightful place beside Craig at our table. ( _Even though_ she's _on the other side of him_.) That doesn't spare us from Clyde's looks, though, and I think Craig is starting to notice.

"Are you still going to be able to go to the party?" Token asks my companion as he leans forward on the table. "I mean being grounded and all."

"I'm not _grounded_ ," Craig curls up his nose in distaste with token's choice of words. "I'm on house arrest."

Token laughs. "Well, whatever you want to call it, is it gonna keep you from the party?"

"Nope," Craig replies as he plucks a guitar string. "I'll still be there, don't worry about it."

I was almost hoping he wouldn't come. That way I wouldn't be competing with Bebe for his affections all night. No matter what, that small detail is inevitable. Though, the subtle roll of her eyes lets me know she'd not happy with his answer.

Despite the trouble he's in with his family, and apparently his girlfriend, Craig's much more chipper today. I think it's mostly because of the conversation we had last night.

He keeps looking at me, eyes narrow and hungry even when Bebe is sitting on the other side of him. She's touching his thigh with her hand. The gesture seems a little less loving and a little more desperate with how rigid she is.

Clyde notices Craig's looks, too, though Bebe's failing to catch on.

I try my best not to blush.

I'm still not completely sure if I can do what we've planned. I'm going to try with all I have to go through with it, but, damn, we haven't done anything this bad before.

This is when a voice comes over the PA system. It lets out a painfully loud static before the familiar voice of our vice principal comes across the speakers.

"We will be having our assembly today during sixth and seventh period. All students are to report to their fifth period where they will be dismissed by their teacher to assemble in the gymnasium. Attendance is mandatory, and-"

"Oh! I forgot about the assembly," Clyde utters while placing his chin on his palm.

Craig and I hadn't. We'd been waiting all week for it. Or, at least, Craig has been. I, on the other hand, have been trembling in my boots the closer today got.

Kyle and his side of the tabale seems less concerned about the message. They talk amongst themselves, occasionally laughing as Kyle flicks a coin in the air. I've no idea what they're doing, but don't care enough to second guess it.

Craig glowers at them for a moment in distaste before returning to his playing. They're starting to get pretty loud, and its obviously annoying my companion.

The coin flips high in the air, bouncing off the table with a cloud click. Butters stumbles to catch the thing before it falls to the floor, and Craig growls.

"Do you guys have to be so damn loud?" He questions in irritation.

"Oh, sorry," Kyle mutters a little awkwardly before his coin is handed back to him. "Just give me a second. I can do it."

Craig subtly rolls his eyes, and his girlfriend gives him a frustrated look.

Kyle tosses his coin again and again, and each time it clicks hard against the table and bounces onto the floor. There's a cup in the middle of the table. It seems to be his target for whatever reason, though when his coin lands flat into the cup he sighs unhappily. Kenny takes the silver piece to demonstrate proper technique. Balancing the shiny circle on his thumb, he flicks it. It shoots from his hand and slams onto the inner rim of the cup, sending the container falling backwards but the coin finding its way back to Kenny's hand.

"Like that."

Kyle seems much more focused when its his turn to try again. He balances the nickle on the edge of his thumb, one eye closed as he lowers himself onto the table. Kenny and Butters watch him in the utmost amusement.

It launches, spinning in the air before smacking into the rim of the cup. The coin does not come back to it's owner, though. Instead, it goes flying back with the plastic cup. With a loud thunk and reverberating guitar strings, Craig looks down with widened eyes at a nice new scratch in the paint of his favorite guitar.

Kyle's hand slaps over his mouth, scooting back as the table falls into silence.

"Shit, I'm sorry," Kyle utters genuinely from behind his hand.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Craig growls, still unable to look up from the small nick. His hands clench the wood of his most prized possession with whitening knuckles.

"I'm sorry!" Kyle repeats himself, looking embarrassed and the smallest bit frightened. "It was an accident!"

"And it'll be an accident when I smash your head into the table!" Craig snarls loudly, loud enough for the chatter of students to quiet into a stunned silence.

"He didn't mean to hurt your precious fucking guitar," Kenny snarls without missing a beat. "Lighten the fuck up!"

Craig lurches up out of his seat like he's about to grab for Kenny, but Bebe and I both snatch him from either side before he could deal any damage. Token slides away from the table as Craig tumbles back hard into his chair, guitar twanging as it swings and smashes painfully into my arm.

The entire cafeteria, along with everyone at our table, sits in silent shock at the sudden outburst. A knot makes makes my stomach home when a teacher comes barreling around a corner, obviously having heard the horrid disruption.

"What's going on in here?!" Mr. Johnson, our English teacher, demands. "What's with all the noise?"

He can't help but notice the entire room is gawking at our table like an alien just crawled out of my cereal bowl. Bebe and I both let go of our shared lover before the teacher manages to make his way to our table. Still, his eyes land right on my companion.

"Craig, was that you I heard?"

Craig dips his head low in submission.

"No, sir," he lies. Hes trying to feign respectfulness, but there is still a gravely quality to his deep voice.

Nobody says anything to condemn him, though it wouldn't be hard.

Instead, I hear someone utter apologetically: "Sorry, Mr. Johnson. We had an disagreement and I got mad."

I look over to see who lied on Craig's behalf. I'm not surprised to find Clyde clutching shyly to his batman backpack.

"Clyde?" the teacher questions in disbelief.

Everything's happening so fast that the entire room seems to be paralyzed. None of us call Clyde out on what he's doing, and not a single one of the couple hundred kids in the room speaks a word.

Clyde keeps his grip on his backpack, looking away anxiously. "Yeah... I'm sorry... I didn't mean to..."

Obviously, Mr. Johnson likes Clyde way more than he likes his trouble making elder brother. I say this because while Craig would have just been hauled off to the principal's office without question, Mr. Johnson only gives Clyde a look of pity.

"Alright, I'll let you off with a warning," the teacher utters. "Just remember I expect more of you, young man. One more outburst like that and you'll have yourself a visit to the principal's office."

Before anyone has the chance to correct Mr. Johnson on the situation, the bell for first period rings. We all slink out of the cafeteria to report to class, leaving together as a group and parting ways as we reach our own destinations. We all remain silent as we travel through the hallway. Even Kyle, who looks rather pale. He's made a point to put Kenny between himself and Craig, obviously not believing he'd be safe otherwise. Bebe isn't holding Craig's hand like she usually would. Instead, she gives him an occasional look of disapproval.

"What?" I overhear him mutter to Bebe. She turns her head away from him, hand running through the long, curly hair on the top of her head. She almost looks like she could cry, which, for some reason, makes me want to cry.

"Nothing," she mutters.

He reaches out to try and grasp her slender little hand in his, but they only remain locked until her limp grip slips from his fingers. She turns without a word to disappear into her first period class, leaving Craig staring blankly at the large wooden door she let close behind her.

"Craig," I whisper gently, taking his thumb in my hand and pulling him away from the door. "Come on, lets get to class..."

**...**

I spend the first part of the day paralyzed. I focus even worse than usual as my teachers pass down information my panicked mind just can't absorb. I can't stop thinking about Craig's freakout his morning.

Still, what I'm most worried about is the promise I made to him last night.

Okay, don't lose your cool, Tweek. I'll just tell him I changed my mind. He won't care. This is Craig for God's sake. He's made it more than obvious on more than one occasion that its hard for him to get upset with me. I'll just tell him I'm too scared. That's all it takes. God, after that mess at breakfast he's probably changed his mind, anyway.

By the time fifth period comes around, my fellow classmates' voices are a low murmur of excited chatter. I, on the other hand, am absolutely petrified. Again, a voice comes over the speaker. "All students please report to the Gymnasium-"

The class roars so loudly that I can barely hear what the vice principal is saying anymore, and they all jump up out of their seats. They love any excuse not to be in class, though I can't say I blame them. We all pour out of the classroom door, but when they start heading towards the gym I turn into another direction entirely. I slip out of the group and face a random locker, fiddling with the padlock to make it look like I'm putting books away. When they all pass me by, I slink away and walk down blue speckled flooring. I swallow down the tension in my throat when I come to a familiar hall, but step forward. My fingers find the metal of a door, and I timidly push it open and step inside.

He's already waiting here.

Just like I was afraid he would be.

He turns before I can even say his name. He looms tall and strong, gaze looking more sad than hot or needy. I swallow hard and back up until I find myself bumping into the door I'd just entered. He tilts his head at me, movements painfully smooth.

"Hey..." he greets with eyes partially lidded and lips slack. "... Why do you look so freaked?"

"I'm not," I blatantly lie.

He reaches an arm out for me, and I jump slightly at the small gesture.

"Then come here..."

I swallow down all the nervousness inside my guts, and step forward with knocking knees. I flinch at first at the feel of his hand on my chin, almost as if his skin had burned me, but fully clasp the big thing the best that I can with my small fingers. My lips part, but only slightly. Suddenly, all the excuses I'd planned to get out of this have left my mind.

I'm left defenseless.

He pulls me in a little closer, and it doesn't take long for him to start pulling at my clothes. Rough fingers find a sliver of exposed skin between the hem of my T-shirt and the back of my sweats, which makes me tremble anxiously. He rubs the skin he found there. I whimper as my body convinces me to give in.

"I didn't mean to," he mutters suddenly. The phrase is so out of place It takes me by surprise.

"W-wha?" I blurt mindlessly, all my thoughts absorbed in the way our bodies are pushing together.

"I didn't mean to get mad."

"You mean at breakfast?"

He nods almost pitifully, like it's me he needs to be apologizing to instead of Kyle or Kenny. My face falls, though I rest my head against his ribs.

"That's okay..." I assure just quiet enough for him to hear me. "You really need to learn to control your temper, though... It scares me."

He goes rigid.

"It shouldn't," he tries to argue. "I would never hurt you. You know that... don't you?"

That last part was tacked on with such uncertainty it makes my heart sink.

"No. I'm not scared _of_ you. I'm scared _for_ you... You're eighteen now. You can't go around hitting people like you used to. T-they'll take you to jail, man! And, _Gah! Oh God!_ Ifyou care about me at all you won't let that happen. I don't know what I'd do if you ended up in a place like that, Craig. It's too much pressure!"

He lets a warm stream of air out of his nose.

"Okay?" I push, squeezing him a little.

"Okay..."

I yelp when he bends down just to lift me up off of my feet. His ass hits white porcelain, and a stall door slides closed behind me. I bite my bottom lip as I balance on his lap, realizing that I'm much closer to his face now. He dips forward, parted lips rubbing against mine. I let him do whatever he pleases. Nimble, yet large, fingertips glide up underneath my shirt. The rough pads leave snake trails up my flinching stomach. I say nothing against his touches. In fact, I melt into them completely when his callous thumbs flick at the pink buds on my chest. I catch a breath in my throat, and he smirks subtly at my attempt at restraint.

"Can I be rough?" he asks in a whisper.

I'm not completely sure what ' _being rough_ ' entails, but right now I could care less.

I nod.

His lips find mine, just as they had many times before. He's hungry for more than just kisses, though, and that's made more than evident as his strong hands gently slide in between my stiff thighs and spreads them farther apart, making me straddle his hips. I whine quietly at the forceful grip. There are so many things my brain is screaming at me to say, but I can't even register them.

His fingers are already slipping down into my underwear, and the grip of his free hand is almost painful as it clamps tightly onto the meat of my inner thigh.

For some reason, though, it feels good...

"Mmn," I manage to moan through his abrasive strength. His hands are rough and needy, and his teeth are bared as he digs them into my neck. I bite my own lip, stifling a groan as he sucks and nips red, tender skin. The cold hand toying in the front of my underwear presses down, and I can't help but whimper in embarrassment.

"Like it?" he asks lowly while he cups my stiffening erection in his palm.

I let out a long hum while trying to squeeze my legs together, but his hips are in my way.

He comes right up against me, and something stiff and warm presses up against my leg. I let out a low whimper when he moves, rolling hard against the burning tension between me and his clothed cock. My hands dart down, grabbing at his belt and pulling hard at the silver buckle. He hums when my fingers press into his thick bulge.

I'm nervous and twitching when the belt finally goes slack. He doesn't wait for me to undo his pants. My foot knocks against the metal wall of our bathroom stall when he thrusts up. The jolt makes me lose my balance and nearly sends me falling to the dirty bathroom floor, but he grabs my hips to keep me from tumbling.

Soon, I'm fighting to keep myself quiet. My sweats are down around my bent knees, and a warm, wet finger is rubbing somewhere that is most definitely not school appropriate. I bounce lightly on the thick digit, breathing heavy in his ear when it forces it's way in.

"Oh my god," I cry out a little louder than I should.

"Hey, hush," he orders breathlessly. "We echo in here."

I bite down on his hoodie to keep my sounds muffled. Nervousness is wreaking havoc on my core when I feel him work himself out of his pants, along with a little square package he rips open with his teeth. His finger leaves me empty when he rolls the wet rubber on.

"Sit on it," he demands lowly. He guides my hand to the warm, stiff skin bulging from his unzipped pants, and I timidly take it in my shaking fingers.

A shivering little gasp quietly bubbles from his throat when I push down, slowly engulfing him in my warmth. My mind goes blank with an unquenchable need, and I struggle to take more of him. For a few moments, he remains still to let me stretch myself to his size. However, it really is only a few moments. I can't help but let out a desperate groan when he grips my sides and impatiently takes over. He does his best to work with my shaking body, stilling when I squeeze him tight, and pushing deeper inside when I open up. Each gasping breath from my throat gets higher and louder as he quickens his pace. He goes harder, deeper. My toes curl up, and my ankles hurt from keeping me anchored around his knees.

His teeth again find my neck. There's no doubt he'll leave marks with how hard he's nipping at my tender throat, but I'm engulfed in too much ecstasy to care.

The senior bathroom fills with muffled cries and the jingle of his loose belt. Flawlessly, we mold together. My fingers grip the back of the toilet, and his slide up my back.

We're nothing but a sweating, panting mess on the very edge of exploding when we hear something that shoots my stomach up into my throat.

The door to the bathroom lazily slides open. We both freeze, clinging silently to one another. Holding my breath seems to be the only way to keep quiet. Craig takes low, shallow breaths.

A voice hums out a little melody, and the soles of someone's squeaky sneakers pierce my eardrums like gunfire.

" _Shhh,_ " Craig very quietly murmurs in the shell of my ear.

A backpack falls to the floor, startling enough of the fuck out of me for a very fucking untimely twitch. My elbow slams into the toilet paper holder, leaving me biting my bottom lip to stifle a pained yelp.

The shoes stop squeaking.

Craig swallows hard.


	13. The Bullet and the Messenger

I hold tightly to Craig as the deafening silence continues. Whoever is on the other side of our bathroom stall hasn't moved an inch since they heard my untimely twitch. My breath gets heavier as their sneakers start shuffling against the floor again. I find myself thankful for the metal wall between us and the rest of the bathroom…at least until I turn around.

I'm met with the thick gap between the door and the stall's metal frame. Someone is standing only a few feet away. Their eyes are blue. Their eyes are wide.

Stan's eyes are wide as he gawks in at the small glimpse he's getting of my naked ass. He sees that I see, then hurriedly turns away.

"S-shit," I whimper as quietly as I can. "He saw me. He saw me, I have to get out of here!"

I brace myself on the toilet paper dispenser as I lift up. A gross, wet sound fills the stall as Craig's soaked cock slips out of me.

He takes a hold of my sides, trying to quietly calm me down as I struggle to turn and reach for the door.

The bathroom is so quiet. I'm sure Stan can hear every breath that puffs between Craig and me.

"Baby, it's okay," Craig tries to assure me in a small whisper.

The stall seems to be getting smaller, though, and I'm feeling beyond suffocated.

"Let me out. Let me out," I chant with wavering breath.

Hesitantly, Craig surrenders, helping me pull my pants up before I dart for the door, fussing with the sliding lock holding it closed. When it finally swings open I go tumbling out with it. I try to avoid looking at Stan while I dart for my messenger bag. I can see him in the mirror, though, and he's watching us over his shoulder as he stands at a urinal.

He's watching us as Craig follows a ways behind me, tucking himself in his jeans as he tries to catch up.

I try to make a break for the door once I snatch my bag. However, Craig takes a gentle hold of my arm and redirects my attention to the mirror. I'm stunned seeing how much of a mess Mirror-Tweek has become.

His clothes are disheveled, his light hair is a wild rat's nest, and thick, dark spots are settled behind his cockeyed collar.

I whimper in shame as I make my way to the sink.

Craig comes up behind me, though he stands awkwardly to the side as I hurriedly comb my fingers through my wild mane.

With the sound of a zipper, Stan slinks away from the urinals to hesitantly join us at the sinks. It's obvious he's looking me over. I can see his shocked expression sneaking peeks at my red cheeks and love bites while he lets warm water run over his hands. I pop up my collar in an effort to hide my marks, but they're too high up my neck.

Stan doesn't take the time to dry his hands.

He and Craig exchange silence as he yanks his backpack up off of the floor and books it for the door.

"Oh god," I croak once he disappears.

Out of all the people that had to walk in and see that, it had to be Stan Marsh, the quarterback of the football team. Rumors will be swirling before Craig and I even make it to the assembly.

"H-he saw me. He knows, Craig. He knows!"

"Knows..." Craig mimics quietly before reaching out to fix my lopsided shirt. "He won't tell. It's okay."

"What the hell are you talking about? He's friends with your girlfriend. Of course he's going to tell somebody! No, he's going to tell everybody! They're all gonna know! Oh God, pressure!"

He doesn't seem to know how to react to me, or what just happened. Rather than addressing it, he just quietly continues fixing my clothes.

"I knew it was a bad idea. Why do I always go along with everything your penis wants? F-fuck, we're lucky we didn't get caught at Token's that time, or all the times we messed around while my mom was home."

Craig leans down, I can see the top of his head in the mirror as he fusses with something, but I'm too busy hyperventilating to care. When he pops back up behind me he has his tattered old jacket clasped in his big hands. He delicately arranges it on my shoulders as if it could fix everything.

It can't.

When we leave the bathroom, I can't help but keep my hands on my throat. Craig is planning on going back to the assembly, but he isn't the one covered in fresh hickies.

I can just hear Token's utter confusion and feel Clyde's disapproving frown.

"You didn't have to leave marks..." I mutter quietly, my hands still rubbing at my neck.

He stops so suddenly I end up running right into him.

"Marks," he utters, his hand pressing against the cold metal of a locker door. "I didn't mean to."

We're at his girlfriend's locker, which leaves me feeling shaken for some reason.

"What are we doing here?" I question with twisted brows.

"Hiding my bites," he answers as the metal door comes open with a few turns of the locker combo. He reaches to the top for a thick red scarf, and tosses it over my shoulders.

"You're going to try to hide the hickies you gave me with your girlfriend's scarf?" I question with a frown. "What if she wants it back?"

"Then show her," Craig mutters, "tell her your girlfriend gave them to you."

"...We've already lied to her enough."

Craig huffs, reluctantly taking the scarf back from my grasp.

"Better ideas?" He asks with the cock of his brow.

"I can put my band aids over them," I decide as I fiddle around in my pockets for the little metal tin.

He tilts his head and watches as I feel around my neck for said marks. The skin he was sucking is still damp and raw.

"Let me."

I give him the tin. He picks out some band-aids. I try not to jump as his fingertips press against the bruises. The sticky ends lay flat against my skin, and this repeats until he's covered both of them.

"This isn't obvious?" I ask in a small voice.

"Less obvious than leaving them uncovered."

Good point.

Craig and I make our way into the assembly, to the bleachers. Scared and nervous, I try to take a hold of his thumb. It doesn't do me much good, though, seeing as how Craig pushes my trembling grasp away like I'm diseased. He won't touch me now, but I'm not surprised.

My nerves are about shot.

I keep looking at the sea of people around us in search of Stan. He's surely telling everyone about what he'd seen now, how he'd caught the one and only Godzilla with his dick up a certain little spaz's ass.

Surely that'd be a great way to get back at Craig for all the abuse he'd suffered.

A shiver rolls up through my spine, and I nearly trip over myself on our way up to our friends. Clyde waves excitedly seeing us emerge from the crowded room of people. Token smiles, though he seems the slightest bit concerned with us.

The gym is filled with loud chatter that echoes off the walls. The mass of students sways randomly as each kid converses with their clique despite the assembly presentation. It's calm chatter, but that doesn't make me feel any better, considering what they could all be talking about.

"Where were you guys?" Token asks as I slide in beside him. Craig slips right in after me. Thankfully, they'd been saving our seats.

"Smoking behind the school," Craig answers for me rather dully. It's a complete lie, but only Stan Marsh would know that.

Token keeps looking me over. He's stern and disapproving. I'm not sure whether it's because of our tardiness, or for some other reason.

After a short while passes, he finally utters, "Why are there Band-Aids on your neck?"

"Huh? My neck?" I yelp while pressing my hands against it again. It's too late to hide them or my crippling shame. "Uh… I got cut- yeah, on um…"

Token, Craig, and myself all turn our attention to a sudden, obnoxious rustling. It's coming from the other side of Token, and we can only quietly stare while Clyde arranges a meal upon his lap. Balancing a pudding cup on one leg and a milk carton on the other, he reaches into his backpack to fetch the main course: a grotesquely overstuffed beef burrito.

Without so much as an explanation, he turns to look Token in the eyes, and takes a big, meaty bite of his tortilla wrapped goodness.

"Clyde..." Token begins slowly, having forgotten completely about my neck. "Why did you have a burrito in your backpack?"

Clyde's still gnawing at meat and tortilla as he glances up at our friend.

"Shhh," Clyde hushes, pressing his index finger against sauce covered lips. "We're at an assembly, have some manners."

Token can only stare in complete confusion, mouth slightly agape and hands risen in unsure apology.

Once his disgusted fascination has had its fill, Token turns his attention back to what's happening on the gym floor. Most of my peers are quiet as they watch with bored expressions, but I'm still quivering. I don't think the red in my cheeks will ever go away. I hide them in the sleeves of my too-long black jacket.

This place is overwhelming. I can only imagine what fraction of the gym knows about Craig and me by now. I see people whispering and laughing. I see people nodding their heads at each other and smiling. Snickering.

It might not have anything to do with us. Then again, it could.

Craig hides it well, but I see his wandering eyes and the occasional twitch in his lip. He's scared, too. Maybe even more than I am, if that's possible.

...

"Does your head hurt?" I ask, laying a hand on his forehead.

Craig only grumbles in reply, which makes me frown.

We've been sitting in this hallway forever. We all should have been home an hour ago, but Clyde and Token had to see one of the teachers after school. It was something about College, but I never know what they're talking about when it comes to things like that.

The assembly didn't do Craig any good. He's laying his head down on my knee, groaning in frustration and rubbing his temples. A migraine is scratching away inside his skull, and the best I can do is softly run my fingers through his hair.

"Craig?" I ask as quietly as I can, as to not worsen his headache.

"Hm?" He grumbles.

"What should we do?" I croak out, my fingers tangling in his hair. "Everyone's gonna know by tomorrow…"

He doesn't answer, so after careful contemplation, I decide to throw my own idea out there.

"We could always just… run…" I mutter timidly, my voice soft and trembling.

"What?"

"I mean, you're eighteen. I will be, too, in a couple months. We could just… s- Gah! Pack some bags and take the truck… Nobody would have to know about it…"

A stream of air flows from his lips.

"We could go somewhere where nobody knows who we are or cares about what we're doing- We could get jobs and rent a house, one that has an extra room for your music… and just... be together."

His eyes are tightly closed, and he talks a few moments, as if he's actually mulling it over.

Though, eventually, he just replies with, "I'm trying to sleep."

"…oh."

I frown, but don't stop playing with his hair. It's gotten a little bit longer, long enough to actually cover his ears. My eyes water the more I think about him. The more I think about us packing our things in the dead of the night and watching South Park disappear in his rear view mirror.

He tries to hide it, but I'm not an idiot. He wants it, too. Why else would he have given me his crow, slept with me in the playground, or called me all those sweet things?

I know that he does, but I also know that he's afraid.

I frown at the thought, because I suppose I could understand. His family likes to force ideas on him of what he should be, and I'm pretty sure being with me doesn't fit into that picture.

I wonder how devastated they'd really be, how everyone around us would really feel about it. Then again, it wouldn't matter if he'd just listen to me for once.

Eventually, he does fall asleep in my lap. His chest rises and falls slowly, and his face changed from tense to soft.

Down the hall, I hear the unexpected patter of light feet. It's a casual, comfortable pace accompanied by a quiet humming. I don't bother looking up to see who it is, not even when I hear the steps come to a stop.

I don't care.

"Tweek?' A voice questions, seemingly a little shocked to have found me here.

When I jerk up, I'm met with the eyes of a pretty girl. They're green, like mine, but, somehow, they're so much deeper. They're deeper, and they shine. Still, He's in my lap this time. I look up at her; her and her pretty face. Her and her cute, pale legs; her little cheerleading uniform. I see her, look at her, and, for the first time, the smile on my face is bitterly real.

"Hi Bebe," I utter quietly, feigning a softness I don't really possess as I run my fingers through his hair.

She doesn't seem terribly upset. In fact, she looks just fine. Maybe Stan really hasn't told anyone yet, or at least not Bebe.

Still, my smug smile won't die down. It won't, because he's in my lap this time. It's my hands touching him, consoling him, and I've done my job so well he's sleeping.

Tilting her head, she watches us.

"Hey," she greets, unfazed or unaware of the venom in my teeth. "What are you two doing here?"

I look down at the side of Craig's face before brushing a hair behind his ear, his hat left bunched up in the nape of his neck.

"We're waiting for Token and Clyde… they're in there doing some college stuff or something," I utter, tipping my head towards the classroom door we're sitting only feet away from.

"Ah, good thing, I need a ride," she says as she lets her backpack slip down her arms. "Mind if I take a seat?"

I shake my head, and she slides down the wall beside me. It's weird being alone with her. Well, Craig's here, but he's too busy sleeping to help curve conversation away from awkwardness. That's okay, though. In light of recent happenings, I've decided the rules Craig had for me don't apply anymore. Now, she's going to find out, one way or another.

"He looks peaceful," she comments, staring at the sleeping giant curled against my leg. "It's the first time in a while he's looked relaxed."

I nod, though he looks more concerned than peaceful to me, and run my fingers through his hair; just to show her I can.

Still, she's going to find out one way or another.

Maybe it'd be best if I just told her now before she hears it from someone else. Craig would be so angry… maybe even angry enough to never touch me again, but I'm not sure if that matters anymore, either.

Maybe I should just start with a small confession.

"I don't like you."

When I breathe in again, my lungs feel fresh, like a crippling weight has been lifted off of them. I'm expecting her to look hurt or shocked, but instead she just sighs, defeated.

"Hm," she mutters before leaning forward to hug onto her bare legs. The green South Park Cows logo on her uniform disappears behind her knees, and her hair falls around her shoulders. "I was afraid so..."

Blinking, I try my best not to twitch.

I twitch.

"Is it okay if I ask why?" she asks.

Biting my bottom lip, I look back down at the side of Craig's pierced face for comfort. I swallow, then flick my gaze back to her. She's twirling her hair between her fingers in thought.

I guess I really am no good at pretending. The look on her face is a telling one. She's seen through me for a while now.

I'm at a complete loss for words. What do I do? Tell her the truth? Lie to her? Just say nothing?

"'Cause... he's mine," I choke out through gritted teeth. I can't look at her. I'm too much of a coward for that, instead, I just keep looking at the side of his sleeping face. "I don't want you to have him."

"I'm not trying to take your friend away," she tries to assure me after a lengthy silence. "Actually, you're one of the few good influences he has."

She doesn't understand, and I have to stop myself from laughing. Out of all the things I should be called, a good influence isn't one of them. Out of all the things she could say to me, encouraging words shouldn't be it. I'm hurting her. She should hate me.

Everyone should hate me.

She doesn't see me for the threat I really am. She doesn't see what I'm truly capable of.

"Y-you're wrong."

We don't say anything for a long time. Instead, we both just stare at Craig; the softness of our lover's breaths, the content curve in his lips. We sit and think. I think I want her to know. I want to just tell her. This could all be over, and I wouldn't feel so bad anymore. I wouldn't get so hurt anymore.

But Craig.

The only thing I want out of this is him.

"Why?" she finally asks.

My lips mesh together in an effort to stop their shuddering.

"Because… I did something really horrible." My fingers are clutching to the front of Craig's hoodie. My teeth are grinding together. Water is budding in my eyes. Suddenly, telling her doesn't seem like such a good idea anymore.

"Aw... it can't be that bad," she says, seeing my trembling. Gently, she places a hand on my shoulder. It doesn't stop my tremors.

My mouth feels full of cotton balls. My heart feels heavy with guilt.

Just do it. Just tell her. Just….

Craig stirs on my lap, letting out a quiet murmur.

I'm a fucking idiot.

"You're going to get me in t-trouble..." I shutter quietly, my fear showing through easily in the cracks of my voice.

Her brows furrow at that, and her hand flinches away from me. For the first time, she doesn't seem to know what to say. She just sits there, like if she looks at me long enough an explanation will miraculously come to her.

Thankfully, the door bursts open, sparing me from her stare.

"Ah! Thank God that's finally over!" Clyde's familiar voice grumbles as he stretches his back. Token comes in behind him, a folder and some papers in his hand.

Craig stirs at the noise, and slips out of my lap groggily. Rubbing his eyes, he looks at Bebe and me in confusion.

I greet him with a frown.

"Oh, hey," Bebe says to Token in particular, ignoring Craig's awakening. "I was hoping you'd drop me off on your way home."

With a nod and a few nice words, our feet scuffle across the hallway tile towards the exit. Everyone seems rather chipper; everyone but Craig and I. We're both quiet, nervous. I felt the stares of passersby on our way out of the assembly. He heard them murmuring. It's only a matter of time, now.

I'm so scared.

He's holding her hand tight, but she doesn't seem to notice the fear in it. It's hard to with that blank mask he's always wearing, but I can see it. I can see it in the flick of his gaze and the pattern of his breaths.

"Hey! Bebe! Wait up!" someone calls from behind us, which startles me enough to earn a yelp.

We all turn to find an equally as pretty girl in a similar uniform, though her hair is a jet black instead of Bebe's soft blond. She's coming towards us, tiny shoes squeaking against the floor as she waves. My heart speeds up a thousand miles a minute when I see who's trailing behind her. Stan. His football jersey gives him away, along with the nervous stare he's giving us.

Clyde smiles and waves, Craig narrows his eyes, and I seize up completely. I can't even will a breath to pass my lips.

"Hey, chick!" Bebe greets her best friend with a slightly less enthusiastic wave. "Good practice, hm?"

Wendy nods, though her smile seems forced. She fiddles with her hands, and her boyfriend shuffles his feet anxiously. He keeps giving Craig sideways glances, like he's ready to dodge a punch any second.

"Wanna come hang with me and Stan for a bit?" She offers.

"Sorry," Craig chips in rather forcefully. "We're leaving."

"Oh," Wendy says, not at all fazed by the gravely tone in Craig's voice, "that's okay… we can take her home."

Craig squeezes Bebe's hand. Letting her be alone with the guy that just caught him pounding his guy friend in the ass doesn't seem like the best move on his part. He's growing antsy, but the longer Wendy and Bebe look at one another the better I begin to feel.

I still can't decide whether or not I want her to know, but, at least this way, it won't have to be up to me.

"Ah, well," Bebe says, seemingly a little suspicious of her friend's motives. "I guess that'd be alright. I'll catch up with you guys later."

Then, her hand slips out of Craig's, and he stands stiff as he watches her go. He doesn't want to let her. I can see the ever-growing panic in his eyes as she gets farther and farther away.

"Craig," I grumble stiffly, my hand gripping his to lead him onward. "Let's go."

He's motionless, and Token and Clyde are watching us with confused stares. My heart is pounding a thousand miles a minute seeing his clenched jaw and tense brow. If I didn't know better, I'd say I could almost see water pooling in his eyes.

He knows just as well as I do what she's about to walk into.

"I know," I mutter my sympathies under my breath, quiet enough that I hope the others can't hear me, "but you've got to let her go."

Stiffly, he turns away, face stone and body drooping.

He doesn't want her to know because he doesn't want her to leave him.

A knot grows in my stomach, but I don't say a word.

…

My house feels vacant when Token drops me off in the driveway. Mom and dad's car is parked in front of the garage, but it feels like no one's home. Though, I suppose that isn't unusual.

Stepping onto the porch, I take a nervous hold of the handle. My hands are shaking.

Last time I saw my mom, she'd been laying on the couch in a heap. I'm scared to think of what she may be doing now. Whether she's still wallowing or back to her abnormally chipper self, I don't want to have to deal with her either way today. My stomach is sinking like a stone, because I can hear Facebook notifications going off from my cellphone. I can only imagine how many messages I have from acquaintances and friends alike, wanting to know if all the dirty rumors are true.

I want to open up the app and see, but I know I can't handle that right now.

Anxiously, I step into the living room. Mom's not laying on the couch, but I can see my dad sitting in the kitchen, sipping from a warm cup of coffee as he flips through the paper. His hair is slicked back with his tacky sculpting jell, and he takes a moment to loosen the black tie around his neck. He's smiling, as always.

My knees knock together at the sight. I'm nervous and shaky. Often times, I do my best to just avoid my dad. He's kind of…weird and really hard to talk to. Still, I don't see my mom anywhere, and my worry for her is only making everything worse.

I drop my messenger bag down on the couch, and then inch my way towards the brightly lit kitchen with utmost uncertainty.

"Um," I try, but have to clear my throat and begin again. "Hi, dad…"

"Ah! Hello, boy," he greets with enthusiasm, as if me approaching him is a daily occurrence. "How was school today?"

He goes back to his newspaper, lifting his mug.

He doesn't really care how my day went. Just like mom, he won't hear a word I say when I speak. I'm so sure of it that…

"Someone caught me having gay sex in the school bathroom."

"Well, sounds eventful!" he blurts before sipping on his coffee. "Though, lewd behavior isn't advised in public, son. I at least hope you were wearing a condom, vaginal sex or not you should always have pr-"

"GAH! Holy shit, j-just tell me where mom is!"

"Ah, she's upstairs getting some rest- rest, like what you get when you sip a freshly brewed-"

"Cup of Tweaks' coffee, yeah, yeah, I know."

With a face painted red in embarrassment, I storm out of the kitchen and towards the staircase, baffled. I'm not sure if I'm more shocked by his reaction, or the fact that he was actually listening to me.

By the time I reach my mother's bedroom door, the red hasn't completely faded away. I knock, but the only response I hear is a muffled noise that almost sounds like her saying come in.

I steady my breath before turning the knob. It's been a long time since I've been inside of my parent's bedroom. Actually, the last time I remember being in here for any noteworthy length of time was probably when I was little, and my parents still cared enough to let me sleep with them when the underpants gnomes were rustling about.

Not that they ever believed me about the gnomes.

Either way, I remember it being a warm and safe place, much different than the taboo it's become now. Stepping through the threshold of the door without being given a task that makes it required of me is nerve wracking.

Still, I let my sock covered foot squish into the soft, tan carpet.

It's dark in the room. Dark enough to make me squint when I close the door on my mother's request.

I can see her shape in the bed. She sounds groggy and warn-out, just like she did before I left for school this morning. I want to reach out and feel her head, like Craig does to me when I start feeling sick, but I don't. I don't know if she'd let me.

Ugh, stop thinking about Craig.

"Hi, mom," I say.

"Hi, baby," she replies.

I bite my bottom lip to keep it still, then step forward.

"Are you feeling any better t-than you did this morning?"

"Yes, a little," she says before shifting beneath her sheets. "How was your day?"

I look down at her, still squinting to get a better look through the dark.

"It's okay," she coaxes. "You can come closer."

I do, but only by taking little baby steps.

"Mom, are you sick?"

"Sweetie, I've always been sick," she says, reaching out a hand for me to take. "Didn't you know that?"

After wiping my sweaty palms on my pants, I reach out and timidly take the hand offered to me.

"No," I admit. "How sick? L-like… hospital sick? Like cancer sick?"

"No, no," she interrupts, "My head is sick…"

I finally come close enough to sit down on the edge of her bed. There's a wet rag on her forehead, though I assume it's there for comfort more than anything. Her short brown hair looks tangled and split as it rests on the pillow around her head. No, she doesn't look well at all.

"You're gonna be okay, though," I promise. "You're always okay."

And always perfect.

She smiles, and nods her head in assurance.

This isn't what I'm used to.

My hand in hers is squeezed as she breathes in. It's a small and unsteady sound, but somehow so reassuring.

Everything in this room seems so tranquil and still, at least compared to the chaos school has become. My heart starts thumping again thinking of Wendy and Stan whisking Bebe away. I know they told her. I know Craig doesn't want to leave with me.

I don't ever want to go back.

"Are you okay?" she asks in a whisper.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"No, I mean… are you really okay?"

I swallow hard at the question, and for a long time, I'm not sure how I should respond. Rather than say anything, I just wiggle my way beside her, resting my head down on her pillow. She reaches up to stroke my hair, her eyes still closed as her breathing slows.

"It's okay to not be alright," she says. "What's important is to remember you'll be alright again later."

"How could you know that?" I mutter. I'm close enough to smell her shampoo, which brings me back to being five. It makes my throat dry. "I don't see how anything can be okay again…"

"Well, every storm has to pass eventually, hm?"

I'm nibbling on my lip in thought when she pulls her favorite handmade quilt up over us. It's warm and familiar. I melt into it.

"You see, happiness is a funny thing," she whispers, her eyes still closed. "Everyone always seems to be looking for it, like it's something you have you suffer for, but it's not."

"It's not?" I repeat hoarsely.

"No. Happiness isn't gained by what you have or what you achieve. Those things can help sometimes, but happiness is finding joy in the moment, even when it's a hard one… It's my fault no one ever got to teach you that."

I frown, but don't say a word. I don't remember ever hearing her say so much, let alone give advice that actually seems helpful and true.

"You're a good boy, Tweek," she says, her hand still on my head. Her eyes crack open slightly, and I realize for the first time that hers look like mine. "I'm very proud of you, and I'm sorry… I couldn't always be there…"

I shake my head, and then touch her hair like she is mine. It's really soft despite her bedhead. She smiles.

"Just remember, your happiness is what should be most important, okay?"

I nod in understanding, my chest swelling up. The same way it did when she gave me my froggy cup and left that letter tucked into my lunch.

I wonder if maybe she knows about Craig, too. I wonder if maybe she's known all along, or at least wondered about why I'd suddenly changed so much.

Either way, I guess It doesn't matter.

Feeling safe and warm, I ignore my phone and sink deeper down into my mom's blankets. She's right. It'll be okay. Maybe not today, and maybe not tomorrow, but someday, it's all going to be better. With her arm slung over my shoulder, and her eyes heavy with sleep, I let myself slip under with her.

…

I contemplated skipping school today. After about six cups of coffee, I finally worked up the nerve to check my Facebook. It was just about as bad as I expected, though only a few people had actually messaged me.

Wow, why didn't you ever tell me about you and Godzilla? Kenny asked after a long string of chattering babble, I should have known you guys were boning, nice

The other messages were from Kyle, Clyde, and Token.

I didn't read any of those.

I was scared of what they might say, and seeing as how none of them said much to me all day I wouldn't be surprised if it was all bad things, anyways.

It probably would have been best if I hid behind the school or snuck out by the track and walked home. Actually, the latter sounds like it would have been a much better idea. It's a little late now to question what could have been, though. I'm already in second period, the only period I share alone with Bebe. Of course, she's a ways away from me. I can't even see her unless I turn around and crane my neck.

That didn't stop me from getting a full look at her smudged eyeliner and baggy clothes when she stood in front of my desk to wordlessly deliver me a note at the beginning of class.

My name is printed neatly across the folded paper in purple gel pen, but there aren't any hearts or doodles like there were on her letter to Craig.

It's just my name.

Tweek.

I still haven't opened it.

I'm afraid to.

I've been breathing in my nose and out my mouth for half an hour, and I'm still not ready.

I look back down at the letter laying in my math book. It's a little crinkled on the edges, like it was in her pocket all day. It was probably burning a hole in the lining of her sweatpants.

After all I've done to her, I suppose I at least owe her this one small thing.

My hands are shaking when I unfold the notebook paper.

When it's spread out before me, I'm surprised by it's length. It's only a sentence, but it manages to floor me.

Take care of him, she wrote with sloppy loops and circle-dotted i's.

After I get out of class, I skip a couple periods to mindlessly organize the locker I never used before. I'm too overwhelmed to go about my day. I'm too lost in myself and the cloud of fog that's lowered around me. I barely even remember making it to my locker.

Books are scattered out about the floor. My precious belongings. I've been out here for a while now, and I still haven't decided which shelf to put my history book on. No one's questioned why I haven't been in my classes yet, or why every passing period I'm sitting on the floor arranging papers and books. Maybe I died in my sleep last night, and I'm a ghost.

That'd be nice, wouldn't it?

The only interaction I've gotten from anyone since breakfast (Besides Bebe, but maybe she died too) are when the guys picked me up this morning and the weird stares the cheerleading squad gave me when they walked by in their cloud of gossip and face powder. Maybe they know, too.

Or, maybe, they're just clairvoyant.

I shiver, yet again reaching up to rearrange my folders in the small space of my locker.

I miss Craig, but he hasn't spoken to me today. When we rode in Token's car, he sat back up front. When we were at breakfast, he sat between Clyde and Token, picking mindlessly at an omelet.

Maybe he's mourning my death.

Maybe he misses me, too.

I hope so, because I miss him so much…

I'm a little shocked to see fingers curl around the edge of my locker door, and then pull it all the way open. The person on the other side scratches their temple through brown hair, looking down at me in utter confusion. There's another behind him; someone a little taller with books in his hand.

"What are you doing?" Clyde asks with a tilted head. He looks like he's about to gather up all my books and put them away for me.

"…are you psychic?" I murmur quietly.

"…what?"

"You're the only one who's talked to me all day. I m-must be a ghost."

He frowns, then does exactly what I was anticipating from him.

"Here, let me help," he offers, getting down on all fours to gather up the loose papers and folders scattered about my knees.

I just watch him with big eyes and shaky hands, but lack the energy to join him. Carefully, he puts each thing where he thinks it fits best, and then closes my locker.

"Come on," he offers gently, reaching down both his long arms. Anxiously, I reach up for him, and he helps me to my feet.

"Are you alright, Teacup?" Token asks, sounding genuinely worried as I just now notice there's a river of people passing by us.

I nod, though I don't really mean it. I keep replaying my mother's advice over and over again in my head. My happiness is what's most important, and what's been happening doesn't at all make me feel happy.

In through your nose,

Out through your mouth.

"I just… need Craig," I nearly whisper. "I need to talk to him."

Token doesn't seem to like the idea too much, grimacing a little as he rearranges his books in his arms.

"Maybe you'd feel better if we just go have lunch by ourselves," he suggests. He knows now, too, I can tell by the look he's giving me. He doesn't want me anywhere near Craig. He's probably planning to have some long discussion with me about how Craig's an alright guy, but not quite alright enough for me to be fucking behind everyone's backs.

I'm planning on bypassing that entire conversation, so I shake my head.

"No… I need to see him."

Token and Clyde exchange glances, like they're trying to deiced whether or not letting us be around each other is a good idea. Token's mind is made up, but Clyde's seems to be too.

"He's probably at the lunch table, if you want to go catch him."

Token grumbles.

I nod stiffly, holding onto Clyde's arm as he and Token make their way through the crowd and towards the cafeteria.

I'm shaking so badly the only way to keep my hands still is to fist Clyde's jacket in my hands.

We walk through the brick arches into the lunchroom, and every muscle seizes up. I can see the back of his head from across the room, his guitar slung over his back and the cardboard meal he's picking mindlessly at. He's sitting alone, looking nearly dead as he forks a bite into his mouth.

Don't chicken out, Tweek.

You know this needs to be done.

"We need to talk," I say as we stop behind his chair. Seeing as how a few tables have taken a curious note of me, I resist the urge to rest my hands on his shoulders.

At first, he ignores me. He doesn't even flinch or hesitate when he cuts another chunk of his lunch and brings it to his lips, as if I really am a ghost and he can't hear me at all.

"Craig," I say, exhausted.

He drops his fork, then looks up at me with a tense, nasty expression.

It takes all I've got to bite my tongue.

"We'll go talk in the band room," I insist despite his dark look, sounding much braver than I really am.

Eventually, he collects his guitar.

The walk there is a quiet one. Honestly, I'm surprised Token and Clyde didn't take to following after us.

When we make it there, I'm relieved to see that not even the teacher is here right now. I toss my mostly-empty bag on the mini-bleachers, and then turn to face the giant in the doorway. He looks tired. Sad and tired.

"So…" he grumbles awkwardly. He doesn't want to be here. He doesn't want to talk. He wants to just pretend like none of this ever happened, but I can't live that way anymore.

I look around the room, my eyes desperate for any excuse not to look him in the face. I know I'll break down and crumble into his arms if I let myself look for too long.

No. I'm stronger than that now.

"Bebe knows," I utter.

Slowly, he nods his head. She probably talked to him already. I can only imagine how that conversation went.

"I just… can I just start by asking you something?"

He looks at his feet unsurely, but nods.

I swallow hard.

"Which one of us do you want?" the question falls out of my mouth clumsily. "Who did you really want to be with all that time?"

He turns, eyes wavering and lips lax as he backs away from me.

"You have to decide…" I say, my voice laced with fear. "You can go back after her, you could stay here with me, or you can choose neither for all I care. I just need to hear you say it…"

He shakes his head.

"Why does everything have to be so hard for you?" I insist as delicately as I can manage. "All I'm asking is for you to choose… I don't want to be the one t-to have to… please…"

"I can't," he whispers. "It wasn't… it was never supposed to be like this. I was just supposed to… kiss and touch a little. It was supposed to just be a taste. It was never supposed to get this far…"

I'm taken aback by his sudden confession, but do all I can to push it farther.

"Just kiss and touch. So… you never wanted to be with me, not even a little?"

"No!" he spits. "I told you there'd never be anything between us. It was just- fooling around. I was never even supposed to sleep with you, let alone date you!"

My eyes well up with bitter water. My hands shake and tremble.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean? You're the one who wanted to have sex. You fucking planned it!"

"I let myself go, okay?" He practically screams. He's backed into a wall, his hands clutching his ears and his eyes squeezed tightly shut. For a conversation that began so calm, it's going downhill fast. "I kept trying to remind myself not to, but I just-…"

"You used me," I say. My voice is as broken as I am, and I can't stop the tears from raining down.

He looks up, blue eyes wavering and angry. Thin lips bared and cocked.

"It wasn't like that."

"Then what was it like?"

He wants to explain himself. The veins in his neck bulge and his teeth grind together when he realizes he doesn't have words. His big hands tighten into fists; his eyes snap shut.

He's trying so hard to make himself speak.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," he hisses through clenched teeth. "I tried so hard not to, I promise I did. After we, you know- fucked that first time- I was going to stop. I was supposed to just leave and tell you it was over…

"But you woke up."

I swallow anxiously when he finally musters the courage to look at me. The pretty blue stands out in his bloodshot eyes. They are watering, and my heart skips a beat.

"You came downstairs and begged me not to go, and I- I couldn't leave you… I tried so hard but I-…"

"You're in love with me."

He freezes, looking down at my much smaller figure with a startled, frightened look.

"If I was a girl, this would all be different, wouldn't it?" I nearly whisper. "You would have left her and been with me."

"S-shut up," That was enough to make him look away in shame. I tilt my head, face red and wet. I step towards him, jaw clenched.

My anger is heating up above its boiling point.

"Why does my gender matter so much? You didn't think there was anything wrong with it before!" I try to argue, "When we played house, and we pretended we were married-"

"Shut up, Tweek, just shut up! We were fucking kids, okay! None of that ever meant a damn thing!"

I freeze, my eyes brimming with disbelief and my face twisting.

"D-don't say that!"

"Just accept it. I'm not your perfect fucking spaceman anymore, and all those fucked up fantasies of us, that's all they'll ever be!" There's a crack in his voice, one of inconsolable sorrow rather than hatred. I swear, for the first time since we were little, he's about to break down into tears.

"You never once thought about me, or even cared. You d-don't even know how to just say that you love me, do you?"

"Stop-"

"No! If you cared about me at all y-you wouldn't have made me go through all of this, you wouldn't have made me sit at the same t-table as her or smell her on your clothes or hurt me like you do- I never meant a damn thing, and until you can fucking let go of all your bullshit, I can't be around you anymore!"

In my rage, I turn to storm away, my anger overwhelming all my senses. I hear him scream for me to stop, his fingers desperately digging into my arm to keep me beside him. He's not going to let me go, not without a fight.

"You can't leave me!" he hisses so loudly through his tears I swear I hear him echo.

I rip out of his grasp, teeth bared and angry. I can see a panic in his eyes I'd never encountered before, but I don't care.

"Fucking stop me!"

A startling crack echoes off the walls of the room. The force of the blow is too much for me to stay on my feet. I'm not touching the floor anymore. There's nothing to reach for. There's nothing to keep me from falling, and falling hard. The first crack is followed soon by another when my head slams against the hard floor.

The only sound I can manage is a pained grunt.

Everything's tingling, and for a moment I'm not so sure I'm still attached to my own shoulders.

Despite my fear of decapitation, I open my eyes. All I can see are fuzzy, distorted colors. They're spinning and swaying like something beautiful, but the pain in my skull slams like something ugly. A sound emerges from the static in my ears. It's Craig; he's talking through a camera with the lens cap still on.

I roll onto my back, covering my face with my hands to keep the colors away.

Through the static and noise my senses tingle, a hand pressing tightly into my shoulder.

Tweek! What happened? the noise wonders aloud. It seems scared, but I can't figure out why.

"W-what?" I question quietly.

Don't move too much, Token thinks you've hit your head too hard.

"Who?"

My eyes again open, and the colors gather together. They swirl and dance, becoming closer and closer until they look like Clyde. I squint hard. There's sweat on my face from his palms.

There's another voice, too. It's louder than all the others, and it sounds angry.

What did you do? it screams. I squirm in Clyde's grip, my eyes rolling through purples, yellows, and browns until they become Token. He towers ahead of us like a giant.

I'm trying hard, but he and Craig fade in and out of my hearing. Most words are garbled text.

Get the fuck away from him, Token says, a radio host on a channel that just barely comes in.

I see another color. It's blocky and thick as it turns away from the purple. It's blue, only blue.

"Craig," I hum through the spit in the back of my throat. It doesn't stop. The color just gets farther and farther away. "Craig!"

Clyde squeezes me against his chest, and as I'm abandoned in the wake of Craig's mistakes yet again, I realize that it doesn't matter.

I never meant a fucking thing.


	14. You Were a Saint | Part One

**Craig**

Tweek meant everything.

"Craig?"

The tremble in his voice, his soft timid smile, and his unrelenting belief in his friends meant everything. And, even though Craig wasn't very good at showing it, he worshiped the ground Tweek's trembling feet walked on.

"D-do you ever listen to music? I do, all the time. It makes me feel a lot better when I listen to pretty songs."

His lips moved softly, and each word that they made washed over Craig like a cool breeze in the summer time. He sat quietly, never spoke, but always listened. Always wordless, but always interested. When Tweek talked, Craig was silent, because he didn't want it to stop.

"I really like the way guitars sound, but I can't find any slow s-songs that are still happy, you know! All the ones with guitars that sound nice have really sad words, and GAH! I don't wanna hear that when I'm trying to relax man."

It was art class, the same class they had every second period in eighth grade. He watched Tweek's shaking fingers roll strips of colorful paper and tape the ends, slowly forming a chain as he added more and more. He talked as he did so. He did enough talking for the both of them. Craig didn't mind, though. He just sat. He just listened, observing the way the sunlight came in through the windows and caught in his friend's blond hair. The way he would occasionally stutter, or make rips in his paper because of shaking hands.

"Y-yeah. I need more happy songs… hm, I'm finished!"

He turned to his wordless friend, who even then was a giant compared to the other, and then stood up to place the vibrantly colored paper chain around Craig's neck. A few classmates watched awkwardly from the table nearest theirs, amazed Tweek was brave enough to treat the infamous Craig Tucker like a dress up doll. They were even more amazed, perhaps, by how much Craig seemed to enjoy it. He rearranged Tweek's chain around the hood on his jacket, a small smile on his usually expressionless face while Tweek stepped back to get a better look at his work. He nodded.

"Ah, it looks good on you! Now you just need um… hm. A hat! Well… you already have a hat, but I'm going to make you another one!"

Tweek plopped back down into his seat, and then picked out a pink sheet of construction paper from the pile on their table. He got the vibrant stack all to himself, considering no one else sat with them. No one ever sat with them, besides Token and Clyde, but that was okay. That's how they liked it.

"What about this color?"

Craig slightly raised his eyebrows.

"Yeah, you're right. It's too gaudy. L-let's do yellow! To match your puffball. I'm no good at making hats, though, man, s-so don't expect anything of me," he said as he sloppily attempted to fold the paper. Craig tilted his head slightly to the side, intrigued, although Tweek's hat didn't come out looking like a hat at all. Again, he stood to decorate Craig with his lopsided paper creation. He placed it atop his blue chullo, and then smiled to himself.

"Yes. Lovely. Runway ready," Tweek said to himself with a small laugh.

Craig gave the other the smallest smile, his cheeks heating up at the look on Tweek's face. He got all fluttery and weird feeling in his belly when Tweek smiled like that. He liked it. He liked it a lot.

He liked all the things Tweek made him feel, and he longed to feel a little more.

Clyde came over after school that day. His sister, Monica, dropped him off around seven so the two could have a much needed sleepover. Clyde hadn't been over for a while, and he wasn't above reminding Craig of this every other minute.

The only thing that could stop Clyde's whining was television, so the pair popped some popcorn and sat down for a movie. That was back before Clyde lived there, when Craig actually had space in his little room for a television.

However, Clyde was paying less attention to the movie and more attention to the idiotic smile that showed up on Craig's face every time he looked at his cell phone.

"Who're you texting?" Clyde pried, a dumb ass smile on his face when Craig bit his lip to try to keep his expression from showing.

"Nobody."

" _What?_ Come on, tell me! Is it a girrrrl?~"

"No. It's Tweek."

"Aw. For a second there I thought you were crushing on somebody, with that dumb look and all."

Craig's lips twisted a bit with thought, his fingers gripping his new flip phone.

"Well… I never said I wasn't."

"Wait, what? Are you saying you've got a crush on _Tweek?_ Because that-... hey, that actually makes a lot of sense."

"Shut up," Craig grumbled, sinking back a bit against the wall, trying to contain his budding blush. "I never said it was him."

"You don't have to say it. It's written all over your face! That's actually pretty perfect. Dude, you should ask him out!"

"It's not that simple, Clyde," Craig grumbled as he played with his phone. He was trying to hide the blush appearing on his face, but he knew he couldn't.

"Hey, sure it is! I've asked out a bunch of people before… Well, they were girls, but I can still help you ask out Tweek, too!"

"N-no. Forget it."

Clyde leaned back on Craig's bed, grabbing at the socks on his feet like he always did back then. He ruined many pairs pulling on them like that. He didn't reply. Instead, he just sat there and stared at Craig with an ever widening grin.

Craig huffed loudly. "It's just a stupid crush! I don't even know why I have it…"

"Because you think he's cuuute.~"

"How many times do I have to say shut up?" Craig blurted, his hat being pulled down even further to hide his reddening cheeks.

"Hey, all I'm sayin' is that there's nothing to be all worried about, you know. You guys are so close, I'd be amazed if he doesn't like you, too… Besides… things have been so hard for him lately, maybe having a relationship like that would make it a little easier on him, you know?"

"Or he doesn't feel the same, and me wanting to date him would just overwhelm him more."

"Dude, have you seen the way he hangs on your arm? He's got it hard, I promise."

Craig let out a loud sound comparable only to a dying cat before falling onto his side and burying his face in his pillow. He was sure his whole body had turned red in his embarrassment. He sighed from under his hat, from against his pillow, though inside he was mulling it all over. For once in his life, Clyde could've been right, and that thought was enough to make his insides all fluttery and weird.

"I don't know," Craig whined. "I don't know, I don't know."

"Okay, well let's figure it out," Clyde decided. "Does he make your stomach all twisty? Like… you know, that fuzzy feeling?"

Craig swallowed hard, then thought back to earlier that day, when Tweek's shaky little fingers brushed against his shoulders as he adorned Craig with construction paper.

"Yeah."

"Do you like like him?"

Craig whined.

"Well, _Do you_?!"

"Ugh! Yes!"

"Well there you go. There's your answer. Tell him."

**…**

He wanted to find some way to do it. To just suck it up already and ask him out. Clyde of all people was calling him a wuss for not just doing it already. That was enough of a sigh that he needed to man up.

He had his fair share of crushes and girlfriends, but that time was different. Tweek was different, and Craig didn't want to mess it up. Being a dork of a fifteen year old, though, he could barely speak to Tweek sometimes, despite being his best friend. How was he going to pull off asking the guy to be his boyfriend?

The answer didn't come to him until a couple days after his talk with Clyde, when he was walking through town with his mother for errands. Her long, bare legs carried her over the sidewalk as he followed behind, a few grocery bags in his hands.

A shop had just opened in town. The brick walls were painted white, and there was a sign in the big, glistening window that read _open_. The soles of his sandals slapped against the summer scorched sidewalk as he moved in for a better look, narrow blue eyes peering inside the brightly lit store.

From where he was standing, he could see all sorts of odds and ends sitting on shelves. Huge, long tubas that glistened back at him in the summer sun; smaller flutes put on display of all colors and sizes. However, he was much more interested in the glorious instrument right up against the window.

The answer hit him with a thick body, long neck, and six tightly strung strings. It was black with white trimming, the matching grey case laying on the display before it. He pressed his free hand against the glass as his mother came up behind him, looking over the display.

"Mom," he blurted with little thought. "I want it."

She blinked at him before biting her lip in thought. Like every other child, Craig had always been prone to ask for things he'd never really use.

"Oh, come on, Craig," she tried to reason gently. "When are you ever going to take the time to learn to play an instrument?"

"Please," he begged, about ready to fall to his knees and grovel if he had to.

Her eyes skimmed over it once again, and she sighed. "How about this, you do chores around the house, and I'll give you twenty dollars a week. Then, if you still want it, you can come back and buy it yourself."

It was a bit more work than Craig had anticipated, and would take a lot longer than he wanted. His mother wasn't one to barter with, though.

He turned back to the display, putting words together in his head. His mind was running over all of Tweek's favorite songs, every tune and lyric; building something that would help him understand what Craig felt.

Tweek would have his happy song.

"Okay," Craig agreed.

**…**

Time to get this over with.

_Dear Tweek, …_

No, no, that's way too formal.

Craig ripped the paper out of his notebook, crumpled it up, and then tossed it into the trash.

He bit his bottom lip. Maybe he didn't need to write some dumb header or introduction. It was a love letter after all, not a school paper.

His stomach got all twisted up with knots again.

 _I'm not so good at things like this,_ He decided to start off. His hand resisted him a little, just because of how awkward it all felt. _But I like you_ _a lot, and_ _I thought maybe_

He threw it away again, only to start the next letter with more determination.

_Tweek_

_I like you, and it'd be cool if you liked me, too. I won't mind if you don't. I understand if it freaks you out. I just think your cute or whatever… and if you think I'm cute, too, then maybe it'd be cool if we like dated or something._

Craig could feel his embarrassment sinking in again, but he wasn't going to back down. Tweek was everything he wanted. He'd be a complete idiot if he let something like that slip through his fingers.

He was sure his folks wouldn't like it much if Tweek said yes. They were always kind of weird about guys that liked other guys, but if Clyde was so open and accepting of it, maybe he'd get lucky and his parents would, too. They liked Tweek well enough. In fact, Craig's mother really seemed to adore him… Yeah, it'd be a good fit.

All he'd have to do was go over to Tweek's tomorrow, play the song Craig had written for him, and hand him the letter. Everything else would fall into place, whether or not Tweek really liked him, too.

Though Craig really, _really_ hoped that he did. He'd been having dreams about it, and they gave him a lot of really good ideas.

Ideas that would make Tweek happy.

He slipped the short love letter in his math folder, so he knew where it'd be when he spent the next day at Tweek's house. Then, he crept upstairs and went to bed.

**…**

"That is so cool! Do you know how to play it?!"

"Um… kinda."

Craig's fingers ran awkwardly over the tightened strings, his lips quirking up as he adjusted himself in the big, flowery cushions. Darkness was coming quickly, the sun setting behind the peaks of great mountains. Oranges and pinks streaked the sky above their little porch swing, and fluffy clouds looked like little more than black smudges on the canvas. It was beautiful, but he knew it wasn't what Tweek was waiting for.

The setting sun was only a gaudy prelude to Tweek's true love: the night sky.

"This is so awesome! N-now you're gonna grow up to be famous!"

"Well… I wouldn't go that far."

Tweek tugged on the collar of his loose, white night shirt. His bare legs were curled up underneath him, and his hands were pulling at anything they could touch. His shirt, his sleeves, the cushions underneath him; nothing was safe from his anxious grip.

"Hey, hey," Craig tried to say as gently as he could manage, his fingers abandoning the neck of his guitar to pry open Tweek's little hand. "Don't pull on your hair so hard."

"Gah! Yeah! Yeah, right; sorry. I don't mean to! I just- AH!- I get so nervous and I don't know what else to do! I don't even realize!"

"I know."

Tweek gripped Craig's hand hard.

There were cuts on his big forehead. They were little scabs that made Craig worried and sad, but he never said anything about them.

He knew where they were from, and he knew why they were there.

"I have something for you."

Tweek's grip loosened a little bit, the tears that started brimming in his eyes blinked away by surprise.

"A present?"

Craig smiled a little. "Yeah. One with happy words."

Tweek bit his lip a little bit, his downward slope of a mouth perking the slightest at the ends.

"You got me a present… with happy words?"

Craig leaned forward, digging into his guitar case on the porch floor. He managed to knock himself in the jaw with his guitar. It earned him a little laugh, which was worth the sting in his chin.

"Um," he muttered as he pulled a piece of folded paper out of the case.

"I can't play very well yet," he warned the other as he flattened out the piece of wrinkled notebook paper on the swing before himself. He did just finish writing it the night before. He knew he'd fuck up if he didn't have a reference.

Tweek sat up straight, laying his pale hands down on the tops of his legs in excitement. He was going to be the very first person to hear Craig play a song, and, to Tweek, that was awe inspiring.

Craig wetted his lips before stiffly pressing his fingers against the strings, mapping out the first cord. His heart was beating so quickly when he realized what this moment could mean. If Tweek liked his song, if Craig gained the courage to give him the letter, it could have been the beginning of something wildly important.

"It's dumb."

"P-play for me!"

He steadied himself with a breath.

The melody was slow and warm; gentle and joyful, like Tweek.

_I'm just as warm as I thought I'd be-  
having you right next to me_

Craig closed his eyes and pretended he was practicing by himself in his bedroom. For the first time, Tweek was absolutely silent, which helped, but didn't stop Craig from plucking the wrong string on occasion.

' _Cause the sun rises inside your eyes  
for a moment, the world's hypnotized_

There was no chorus. There was no bridge. There was only a melody, the plucking of strings, and Craig's young and untrained voice.

_Flowers grow reaching for you,  
and I grow with them, too_

It was slow. It was sweet, as sweet as he could make it. He sang each syllable in a gentle, beautiful harmony he didn't even know he was capable of creating.

_The tides in me, stubborn and beat  
shift to lap over your feet_

_I follow them, too  
I grow for you_

It was most definitely the cheesiest thing Craig had ever done in his life, but his heart beat for it. It beat even harder for the look on Tweek's round face.

"That song was… for me?" tweek asked, seemingly in disbelief. His eyes lit up, he nibbled giddily on his plump bottom lip.

"Yeah…" Craig confessed before clearing his throat. "Actually… it was _about_ you…"

"Oh," Tweek cupped his cheeks in his hands, the setting sun casting the a soft glow on his face.

"It was about how you make me feel… um… yeah…"

Tweek looked to him with a smile, his hands falling back down onto the bare tops of his legs. Craig was hiding his love letter underneath his lyrics, but he'd forgotten all about it.

"I thought that maybe if you felt the same way… you could like." Craig fiddled with the strings of his guitar as he cleared his anxious throat. "Be my boyfriend… or something."

Tweek's cheeks must have been about a thousand different shades of red, though he kept smiling. It only made the pitter patter in Craig's heart run on overdrive. Tweek was smiling, and happy.

Craig could make him happy.

"So, what do you say?"

Big, green eyes looked up at Craig, a little watery, but with delight.

"Craig…" he uttered, flabbergasted, as if he too had been waiting for that moment since the day they met; since they were spacemen.

"Craig…"

"Craig…"

He blinked.

"Craig?"

_Craig!_

He jolted upright in bed, eyes bugging out of his head and hands clutching at his covers when he came to the realization that the fleeting image of Tweek had all just been a dream.

It made his throat scratchy and his mouth go dry.

"Craig," a voice said again. It belonged to his mother, who stood in his darkened doorway. He could barely see her through the sleepiness in his eyes, but he saw just well enough to know she looked concerned.

"Could you please come downstairs? Me and your father need to have a talk with you."

Craig gave an awkward nod of his head, though his heart sank a little. As he stood up from his bed, he tried to remember all the bad things he did that week. Lectures weren't uncommon for Craig.

Had his father noticed his bottle of scotch was just a little lower than it had been? Did his mother find the Pepsi stain Craig left under the rug in the living room? Or, perhaps, Ruby finally told on him for catching him smoking the week before. Either way, he knew how it was gonna go.

He was more concerned with replaying that wonderful dream over and over again in his head.

He followed his mom down the stairs, where his father was waiting on the couch. There was a different air about this particular meeting. His dad wasn't throwing a raging fit for once, and his mother was playing with her hands nervously.

Craig didn't feel comfortable sitting down, so he opted to stand in the middle of the room.

His father sighed before lifting himself up out of his chair. Tension was so thick in the air, Craig found it hard to swallow.

"Boy," Thomas started, his gaze odd. "What's this?"

Craig's face twisted up at the sight of a letter clutched in his father's hand. His heart thumped hard in his chest and his mouth suddenly felt full of cotton balls. _Tweek_ was written across the front of the folded note.

Were they really calling a family meeting over _that_ of all things? Over a stupid little love letter?

"I… I don't know."

"That's awfully funny, since your mother found it in your bag," he didn't sound angry, but that didn't mean anything.

"It's not… what it looks like," he lied as his hands began to shake. He was so caught off guard that he wasn't sure what else he _could_ say.

"Then what _is_ it?"

"I… um…"

"Son, is this kid putting stuff in your head?"

"What? No, it's not like that!"

" _Shh,_ Listen to me, Craig," His mother cooed before she held tight to his shoulders, stepping between him and his father. "It's okay…"

Craig felt a little lighter hearing that, a little less guilty.

"It is?"

"Yes. Sometimes you might have thoughts and feelings that aren't quite right, but that's okay. You're still very young, and it's okay to be confused."

"I'm not confused, I just-"

"We can take you to Father Maxi. He knows a place that helps kids like you… who need a little guidance, you know?"

And there came the guilt, crashing back down in waves. He remembered hearing about that place. He remembered overhearing all the terrible things the Stotch boy said about his stay there. Things like small meals, grueling sessions with counselors cramming pages of the bible down his throat, and the occasional suicide he'd heard through his dorm wall.

Would they really send him there?

Would they make Tweek go, too?

"I don't need-"

"It's just like a summer camp, where they help people overcome thoughts like you've been having. It'll be okay, I promise. You'll get better, and-"

"No! No, _no_! I don't need to get better, I swear! It's… it's not my letter!"

Thomas looked at his son, one eyebrow cocked. "Then who's is it?"

"Um… It's…. Some girl at school likes him- yeah. She asked me to pass it on. It's- It isn't mine!"

His mother immediately let out a sigh that sounded painfully close to relief. She released him from her grip, willing to believe anything as long as it meant her only boy hadn't caught some dreaded disease.

Thomas, however, didn't look so convinced.

"Phew, why didn't you just say that from the start? You had me all worried over nothing."

"…sorry…"

His mom turned towards the kitchen, spouting her apologies and fanning herself off. Craig swallowed hard, backing towards the staircase like he could escape if he made a run for it.

However, the gaze of his father made him stop in his tracks.

"…I don't want to hear about this again, do you understand me?" Thomas grumbled, though he handed the letter back to Craig.

Craig nodded hard, swallowing spit that built up in his throat. His father left then, too, with a promise that Craig would understand, even thank them, when he got older.

It was obvious, now. The thumping Tweek made in his chest was wrong.

Still… he thought about Tweek. He thought about Tweek and his eyes got wet. The fluttery excitement and happy bubbling that once resided in his heart had been replaced only by a brokenness he couldn't understand.


	15. You Were a Saint | Part Two

He's pacing his room. His guitar case is dragging behind him as his feet shuffle across his messy carpet. He's been trying hard for the past two days to not think. Usually, that's an easy task for him. Lately, however; not so easy.

What had he done?

The springs of his mattress creak when he falls back onto it. His chest heaves. His mind swirls. The one thing he can't be free of are the looks his friends had on their faces. Token's unbridled rage and Clyde's horrified shock; they haunt him. Neither has linger quite as vividly, though, as Tweek's.

Tweek was in a haze the last time he saw his face. His cheek was stained a pinkish color where Craig's violent hand struck him. His green eyes were watery as they searched for him. Tweek was searching for Craig, even after he put his hands on him.

He can almost still hear that small voice crying his name as he ran. As Craig ran away like he runs from everything.

The thought makes his hands shake and an unbearable heaviness linger in the bottom of his lungs. His breath catches in his throat. Tears threaten to sting his eyes.

Something small distracts him from his sorrowed heaving. It lays out over his chest. It's scraped and old. Plastic, but precious.

It's a little star he's been keeping around his neck, held there with a crude piece of twine. His tiny treasure still faintly glows when he cups it in his big hands and peeks inside.

He can still remember the moment it was given to him. They were laying on the cold, hard floor of that playhouse. Tweek dropped it in his hand before his shaky little voice offered quiet words.

" _Because that's what you do when you're in love with somebody."_

Stop thinking about Tweek.

He sits up in bed with a jolt. Tweek's glow in the dark star falls back into his shirt in the process.

He fetches his red notebook off of his messy side table.

His guitar, too.

He hasn't touched either of them since he locked himself up in his room. Playing will ease his mind. It will make the idea of jumping off a roof a little less enticing. It always calmed him before, no matter how bad the situation seemed.

He will be okay.

He flips through the pages, looking for the right song to take the pain away. One that will take the memory away.

Each page he turns to, though, is only a dash of salt in his open wounds.

He wrote so many songs for both Tweek and Bebe. So many slow songs with happy words, and with sad. He keeps flipping, but none of them fit. None of them help. Every lyric and rhyme just reminds him of that sweet face, and the pain he sparked behind those eyes.

He keeps flipping, though, as if he can find the remedy tucked away under the time-beaten cover. There is something there, underneath the grungy red front of his lyric book. A remedy, though, isn't the right word for it.

He grips the edges of the wrinkled up notebook paper. His teeth grind together. His breath catches.

The handwriting is scratchy and scribbled; sloppy and lopsided. The letters are big and the words are sweet. It was a gift from the one person he's trying so hard to forget.

He wants to rip it up into a thousand pieces and grind it into the carpet. He doesn't deserve to have it. He never deserved anything of Tweek, but he can't. He can't get rid of it, and he can't play.

His music means nothing without his Sunshine.

He stands from bed, muscles tensing and blood pumping fast through his veins. He doesn't have anything left now. There's no one left to bear the brunt of his blame.

He will not be okay.

He grips the neck of his precious guitar, and, with a furious yell, launches the instrument across the room. Black wood smashes against dry wall. It makes a horrible, booming twang that resonates throughout his bedroom like a pained cry. His throat goes dry as it falls, damaged on the floor.

Just like Tweek.

He's heaving by now. His hands are shaking and tears are pooling heavily in his eyes, though he won't let out a sob.

He didn't mean it.

He didn't mean to hurt him.

He didn't mean to hurt anyone.

This is not what he wanted.

His nightstand is the next to crash to the floor, sending dirty plates and trash sprawling across the carpet. Still, he is unsatisfied. He balls up his fists and slams them relentlessly into the wall. The tendons in his neck bulge and his jaw clenches. The scarred skin over his knuckles crack, and so does the wall beside his bed.

He wants nothing more than punishment.

A knock comes through his door. It's loud and booming, frantic.

"Craig? Are you alright?" his mother's worried voice yells from the other side. "What's going on in there?"

He turns, his heart aflame and anger boiling up out of him.

He lunges full speed towards the door. It startles his mother into a shriek when he slams his body against it. The wood creaks and groans against the massive teen's weight.

"Leave me the fuck alone!" he demands with a snarl. He's spitting with his face pressed against the door. He doesn't care if she's worried or scared for him. He doesn't care about anything.

"Open this door before I call your father up here!" His mother threatens, but Craig is not fazed.

"Go ahead," he dares her with a laugh. "I don't give two shits!"

The alcohol on his breath is obvious to her by now. He'd stolen it from his father's not-so-secret secret hiding place when they were away at work. There was no one there to stop him.

"Craig, I'm giving you one more chance! Open this door, now!"

Oddly enough, he likes the rush of blood pumping through his veins. He hopes she sicks his father on him. They could have some real fun, then. Craig won't hesitate to give that dick a piece of his mind. Maybe even his fist, too, if he gets riled up enough.

He listens closely through the door. Her footsteps echo against a hard wood floor. She's going downstairs.

Now he waits.

Blood gets on his sheets when he throws himself back into his disheveled bed. It's from the ripped skin of his knuckles. Such a small thing doesn't concern him.

Moments pass, and no one returns to his door. He figures they're downstairs discussing what they should do with him. They'd already had a little talk about his behavior once. It won't go over well if they decide to do so again.

Half an hour passes. There's still no sign of his parents. The afternoon creeps away painfully. Especially painfully; he just now remembers the plans Tweek made for this weekend. Their own Halloween celebration. Their own private time together before Token's big party. It was supposed to be last night.

He wonders if Token and Clyde talked Tweek into celebrating without him.

He wonders if Tweek is in his room getting ready to go right now.

He's probably looking in the mirror as he cakes his face in white paint. Craig can almost hear his little whines as he struggles to put in his fangs himself this year. It must be lonely without Craig there to tie his cape.

For the first time in two days Craig rummages around his room for his phone. He hasn't looked at it since he left school Thursday. Fuck, he's barely so much as left his room. The only human contact he's been getting is from Clyde, but he hasn't been around much lately.

He's been too busy picking up the pieces Craig left broken.

After about fifteen minutes of kicking around the mess on his floor, he finds what he's been looking for. It's some shitty old IPhone; dented, scuffed, and without a case. It's dead. The charger by his bed solves that problem.

He nearly texts apologies. He nearly calls and begs for forgiveness, if for no real other reason than to just hear his voice again. However, when he turns on his phone, he realizes he has many more texts than usual. None of which are from Tweek.

The majority are from an unknown number. One of Bebe's friends blowing off steam, probably. They call him a cheater and a liar. They call him a faggot.

He deletes them, then moves onto the next message.

_Token (6:38pm 10/29/12): I don't know what the fuck is wrong with you, but it's best if you keep your distance until you remember how to be a decent human being._

He thinks he might throw up.

Craig did more than lay his hands on Tweek; Token knows that now. He knows just as well as everyone else in town. Craig would be surprised, honestly, if word of their little slip up in the bathroom hadn't already reached his parents.

He picks the bottle of liquor up from his headboard. There's nothing to do but stare at his bloody knuckles as he slurps down another swig.

It's his fourth mouthful. He's starting to feel woozie.

It isn't much longer until he yet again hears knocking at his bedroom door.

"Boy?" a familiar voice calls from the other side. It sounds frustrated and angry. "Get out here, it's about time we had a talk."

Craig chuckles to himself before taking another swig from his bottle. "About my directionless life, or about me being a flaming faggot?"

There comes a harsh grumble from his father.

Ah, yes. He really had been told. He could only imagine how it played out. Thomas was probably sitting around the bar with his friends, slurping down beer as they all looked at one another. No one wanted to say it, but it was on all of their minds. Finally, someone raised a brow.

_I heard something about your son,_ one of them said as they sat their glass down on the bar.

"Craig, open this door right now!"

_Can't say I'm surprised. What is it this time?_

"Craig!"

_Well…_

"I swear to God, if you don't open this door I'm gonna shove my foot so far up your ass."

"Wow, threatening bodily harm. What a great father!"

For a short while, silence is the only thing that fills the space between them. It feels like hot coals settling in the bottom of his stomach when he realizes Thomas isn't screaming back.

More footsteps.

Thomas is leaving.

"Hey!" Craig shouts to the fading sound. "You can't walk away from me!"

He falls out of bed on his way to chase after him. He almost spills his bottle, but manages to stand to his feet. He stumbles out the door. By the time Craig comes spilling out into the hallway Thomas is already disappearing down the stairs.

"Come back!" Craig demands in a harsh scream. He chases blindly after his father's silhouette.

The bottle of booze is abandoned on the floor for a better grip on the railing.

His feet thump hard as he follows. The pounding in his chest beats on his ribs hard, like his blood has thickened into syrup.

He knows what he's headed into. A fight is what he wants.

The alcohol pumping through his veins distorts his perception of things. He doesn't notice his mother and sister sitting side by side on the couch. He doesn't notice their heads turn in his direction, or the worried look on Ruby's face.

All he sees is the back of Thomas's head, and the color red.

He plants both feet firmly into the carpet.

"Don't ever just walk away from me, you piece of shit. I was talking to you!"

Thomas turns around. His eyes look just about as mean as Craig's do. They're both sharp and narrow; a mirrored image of one another.

"Go on," Craig hisses through his teeth. "I'm a worthless cocksucker, get it all outta your system."

"You think I'm stupid?" his father asks with a stiff expression. "That ain't news to me. You've been fruity since you met that Tweak boy."

Craig clenches his jaw tight.

"Don't you talk about him like that, don't you ever!" his voice cracks as he speaks.

His father sighs, then pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. It reminds Craig of Stan, which only makes him want to knock Thomas's teeth out even more.

He's trying so hard not to scream.

"Just tell me where I went wrong with you. I try and try to be patient, but all you repay me with is disrespect."

"Where you went wrong?" Craig tips his head back to laugh. "You should be fucking proud. I'm everything you ever wanted me to be! I'm a cold, cheating bastard just like you."

Thomas looks at Craig with his eyes widened. He's so shocked all he can do is stand there with his jaw slack as he tries to find words. His son scoffs at his bewilderment.

"You pick up on a lot of shit when you're a little kid," Craig hisses through his teeth. "I heard every bad word and saw every pot mom threw, don't think I didn't, you sack of shit. The only good thing I had my whole fucking childhood was Tweek, but you ruined that just like everything else!"

His father's face twists in anger. Craig said exactly the right thing.

"You listen here," he snarls while prodding his finger into his son's chest. "You don't talk to me like that in _my_ house. I've never done anything but provide for you. I worked my whole damn life to keep a roof over your head and food on your fucking plate. Everything I ever did was so you'd turn out alright."

"Well, then, what's the problem?" Craig mutters through clenched teeth. He shoves his father's hand away. He snarls like a wild dog. "Aside from sucking dick, I'm the same heap of trash that you are."

His mother hides her face in her hands.

She did not want to hear that.

"I'm so sick of your shit …You just need to go, Craig."

"What?" he sputters in shock.

"The only thing you've done is tear this family up! All the fighting and stealing and trouble, it's stopping right now. Pack your shit and go. Don't come back 'til you learn some fucking sense…"

Craig is taken completely aback. Out of all the things he expected Thomas to say _, get out_ wasn't on the list.

"You can't do that!" Ruby shouts in her anger. She jolts up off the couch with her teeth bared. "Kicking him out isn't going to help him!"

"He isn't gonna learn any other way," their father argues. His voice is deep and angry, but that doesn't faze his youngest child.

She's more furious than Craig ever thought anyone could be on his behalf. Her fists are balled to her sides, and her pigtails sway as she shakes her head. "You just want him gone because you don't want to deal with him. He doesn't need kicked out on the street; he needs his family!"

"Ruby, go to your room," Thomas barks.

"No! He needs you to love him!" She insists. "He needs for you to just once in your miserable life to tell him he's worth something!"

"He's leaving, and that's final!"

Craig looks to his mother. Secretly, he hopes she will be at least half as passionate as Ruby. However, she only looks to her feet. It's obvious now. The decision isn't only his father's.

"…fine," Craig utters before quickly turning to jog back up to his room. He makes sure to grab his booze on the way. He needs it to drown out Ruby's voice as it begs him not to go.

It almost feels as though he doesn't have control over his body. It just goes, and he doesn't have the energy to fight it. He scoops his backpack out of a pile of clothes on the floor, and begins packing. With every few pieces of clothes he stuffs into the thing, he takes another small sip of his drink.

He needs somewhere to go.

He doesn't have any friends to run to anymore. He doesn't have a girlfriend to take care of him or a best friend who can fix everything with a kiss. Not even his own mother wants him here.

Why should she? He's a worthless fag.

"Craig," a voice utters quietly from his doorway. His fists are both clutching clothes as he stuffs them in his backpack. He almost starts screaming, but stops when he sees who's in his room.

"What is it, Ruby?" he asks with tight lips. He's still on his knees. They're eye level this way, so he doesn't bother standing up.

Both her hands are behind her back as she steps towards him. Her flowery little nightgown flows around her slender frame just the way their mother's does. Her pigtails sway just as they did when they were small. She seems intent on something. There is purpose in her eyes, and an offering hidden in her hands.

She stops right before him, and then gently places said offering on top of his backpack.

All the anger melts away from him, though he squints at the thing like he's looking directly in the sun. With timid hands, he reaches out to touch the grey plush with the tips of his calloused fingers. She still looks just like she did the last time he'd seen her face. The last time she was ripped away from him. It almost doesn't feel real seeing those big black eyes gazing back. They almost seem to be smiling.

"How?" He asks in a stupor.

Ruby plays with one of her pigtails. The silky red locks flip and twirl in her hands.

"You were always there for me," she says while staring at the stars behind Craig's eyes. They were still there, no matter how hard he tried to wipe them out. "You and Tweek both…"

She gnaws on her bottom lip

Her face is a little red. Her eyes are a little watery. He can only blink and stare as her cheeks become wet.

"I love you. No matter what, you'll always be my family."

…

He's already too drunk to entirely walk straight. The cold seeps down into his bones as he grips the straps of his backpack.

His big shoes crunch snow on the front stoop. The house's lights are all mostly on. He can hear quiet noises from inside. He wishes this wasn't the only place he had to go to. Swaying awkwardly, he reaches out with split knuckles and knocks. Shivers roll through his spine while he stands amidst silence and falling white flakes.

Moments pass. No one answers.

He frowns, then looks back at the street behind him. Other houses stand out. They're illuminated only by the bright yellow streetlamps dotting the sidewalk in neat rows. The black of night is like a deathly fog creeping up from alleyways and engulfing the sky.

Everyone else is safe inside those houses with their families. Grownups stay up late to watch their favorite scary movies, and little kids lay in bed picking through their trick-or-treat stashes. Most everyone else, though, are safe and happy at Token's party.

Everyone but Craig.

Instead, he's standing homeless and buzzed out of his mind on the porch of someone who probably doesn't even want to see him. Of the porch of someone who's probably not even home right now.

A thick rock pulls his stomach down into his guts.

He doesn't want to be here, but he won't survive the night alone.

He turns back around suddenly to ram his fist into the door once again. It's more frantic this time, begging anybody to open up and let him in.

Mid-knock, the wooden door unlatches from its frame. He steps back with squinted eyes when the light from the living room pours out and leaves him feeling blind.

"…Craig?" a woman asks as she tilts her head up at him. Her hair is a short brown bob, and her body looks snug in a loose pair of blue pajamas.

She can see how hard his chest in heaving. She smiles pleasantly nonetheless.

"Hey…" Craig mutters awkwardly. Though he tries his best to hide the alcohol on his breath, he can't stop his body from swaying unsteadily. "Is… Tweek here?"

"Oh! Yes, of course. I was wondering when you'd be over."

Craig's brows knit. That sounded weird to him, but he isn't lucid enough to ask for an explanation.

"Come in, he'll be so happy to see you," She moves away from the door and gestures him inside. He'd never been so nervous to be in that living room. Not even when he and Tweek were up to no good.

"Just follow me, right this way."

He does as he's was told, though even drunk he doesn't need to be escorted to Tweek's bedroom.

They walk through the living room and up a set of stairs he had already tracked thousands of times before. Pictures hang along the walls- familiar pictures of a little blond boy with an awkward smile.

Craig doesn't look at them as the stairs creak underneath his feet.

Mrs. Tweak reaches the top. Luckily she doesn't notice him nearly lose his balance in his drunken stupor. The hallway seems to stretch on a lot longer than Craig remembers. Knowing who is only a few doors down, only a few steps away from him, makes his feet feel much heavier.

There are streamers of orange and black strung out along the hallway floor. Pieces of confetti are left dotted in the carpet. Craig tilts his head slightly at the small mess, bewildered by such imperfection in such a flawless place.

He's even more bewildered, though, by the smile the woman beside him is wearing.

"He was so sad that he couldn't have Halloween with everyone else, stuck in bed and all. It was sweet of his friends to come throw him such a cute little party."

"… stuck in bed," Craig mimics while his face twists up in uncertainty.

"Oh… you don't know?" She asks, equally as surprised. "He hit his head at school the other day."

Craig looks up at her with his mouth slightly agape.

"Don't worry, dear. The doctor said he only has a mild concussion. All he needs is a little rest."

A concussion? No. _No_ , Craig hadn't hit him that hard. He didn't!

"Maybe seeing you will make him feel a little better."

He frowns, but she's too busy picking the remnants of Tweek's party out of the carpet to notice.

His hand grabs the knob to Tweek's bedroom.

It's locked. Figures.

He sighs, then digs in his pockets.

Tweek's mom watches him silently from the corner of her eye as he pulls a key out of his front pocket. It's odd for her to watch him press it into the door and turn it with a small click. She hadn't seen it in years, not since she handed it to him.

He tries not to look at her while he pushes the door open.

He can't even bare to look inside.

Instead, he opts to slip in and face the door as the latch quietly clicks back into place.

His eyes slam tightly closed, as if he's waiting for some alarm to go off from his intrusion. However, after several moments of standing here with his hand still on the knob, he slowly turns to face Tweek's bed.

There's a lump there underneath the sheets. It rises and falls as the tiny person underneath shifts in their sleep.

His heart doesn't beat any lighter as his feet start to take small steps towards the froggy themed bed. There are bright locks of crazy blond hair poking out from underneath the think covers. A small face is partially hidden underneath that wild mop.

Tweek.

His pale skin is the same color it's always been, with one exception: a dark, violent bruise smudged underneath his left eye.

Craig doesn't even notice the dirty, Halloween themed paper plates scattered about the room. He doesn't see the blue teddy bear sitting on the edge of Tweek's bed, adorned with the words _Get Well_. He doesn't notice the little TV is replaying the title screen to some teen horror flick over and over, or the confetti under his feet.

All he sees is Tweek, and the ugly marks he left on such a sweet face.

There are a couple fold up chairs left by Tweek's bed. Their friends sat on them to watch movies and keep him company. His hand finds the back of a chair, and he hesitantly takes a seat.

It hurts bad knowing he's the cause of so much worry and pain; that their friends were there to help Tweek heal from what Craig had done to him.

It shouldn't be this way.

It never should have been this way.

It almost doesn't feel real.

Desperate, he reaches out to gently place his finger in an opened, tiny palm.

Lightly, the small hand squeezes the digit.

Craig's face falls dramatically.

He didn't even think of what to say when he got here. Honestly, he'd spent all his time recently trying to learn how to live with never seeing Tweek again. Now that he's here with this hand wrapped around his finger, well…

"I hope you can forget me," Craig utters with the upmost sincerity. "I hope you can forget… everything."

Tweek looks blurry as Craig tries to focus on his face.

This isn't something he can fix with sorry.

This isn't something he can smooth over or take back.

Nothing is ever going to be the same again.

He doesn't notice the black fabric bunched up under Tweek's chin, or how Craig's side of the bed is left open and empty. He just leans forward to place a small kiss on the fingers gripping him.

The sweet goodbye kiss Tweek always deserved but Craig never truly gave.

The damage he left behind is too much for him to stay, but that doesn't mean he's going to let Bob freeze to death with him.

He gently pulls his finger out of Tweek's weak grip, then lays the baby alien down where she belongs.

…

Kyle's sitting at his computer. His fingers rest on his mouse as he looks through Google links. He's been pressured all week to get his grade up in trig. Usually, he'd be on top of such things, but this week has been hectic and unorganized.

His mind has been elsewhere.

His little brother, Ike, is lounging on Kyle's bed. He has homework in his lap, too. The only difference is he's actually doing it. He doesn't say much. Kyle's little brother is kind of quiet, for the most part. He always has been, so Kyle never questions his silence much.

He taps his foot against the floor, sighing.

"This is never going to get done," He complains aloud. It has to be perfect. He has to get a better grade than Token, or he's never going to get his spot as valedictorian.

"You alright, Kyle?" Ike asks from the bed.

"Yeah, I'm just thinking, is all..." he responds while tapping his lip with his eraser.

"Oh." Ike doesn't question it much further. Kyle lets his mind wander all the time. It's usually over something small.

"Oh, um… Ruby wants to know if Tweek's okay."

"Tweek?" Kyle mumbles.

"Yeah. You went to his little Halloween thing, right?"

Kyle's fingers stop moving. He doesn't admit that Tweek is a subject that's been bothering him lately.

"Yeah. It was pretty bad…" he recalls while staring blankly at his homework. "He was in bed the whole time. He barely spoke, either. He smiled when he saw me and Ken, but that's about it. "

Ike doesn't say anything else, just returns to his cellphone to text his findings to his girlfriend. She hasn't texted him for a while now. She's really worried.

He hates to deliver bad news.

"Hey, Ike... Do you think it's true?... about him and Craig?"

Ike takes a moment to think about it, then shrugs. "I don't know a whole lot about Craig. Every time I'm over he's hiding in his room, so..."

"I'm not surprised."

"Ruby thinks it's true, though."

Kyle doesn't say anything else, just turns back to his homework. Ike frowns at his brother's back. He knows well what's going through his mind. Ike's probably the only person who really could. He's the only one who knows all of his brother's secrets, aside from the person he'd made them with.

"Try not to think about it too much…"

The conversation dies down, but Ike continues gnawing at his lip. Kyle looks back up at the computer. His curser scrolls through link after link of trigonometry related reference pages, though he's not actually absorbing any of it.

After a while, their silence is interrupted by a booming crash.

"What was that?" Ike asks in a hush.

"I don't know…"

_**BANG!** _

Kyle jumps up from his seat. The ruckus came from the back patio, so he creeps to his window and parts the curtains. When he peers down from the glass into the yard, a figure catches his eye. It's tall, hooded, and angrily kicking over one of his mother's snow-covered lawn chairs. He covers his mouth in shock when the man lifts their patio table and tosses it into a heap.

"What the fuck," he blurts in panic.

Ike hurries to his older brother's side and presses up close to get a look for himself. "What the hell is that guy doing?"

It's hard to see in the dark. The only thing illuminating the figure are streetlamps. Still, Kyle can see all too well that the hooded man is throwing himself against the back sliding door. A pang of horror and worry scrapes down his spine. "Holy shit, is he trying to break in?"

Ike stands up on unsteady legs and backs away from the window. He looks just as spooked as his elder brother.

"Holy- we should call the cops!"

Kyle keeps watching in bewilderment as the man falls down, only to stand back up and trip over the furniture he's just dismantled.

"Or mom? We should at least tell mom there's some guy trying to get in!...Kyle!"

"R-right! Right!"

He does pull out his phone, ready to dial 911. However, as he watches the man stumble about in a confused, desperate stupor, he changes his mind. The cops feel like too much, and he knows all his mother will do is freak out.

He knows exactly who to call in a time like this. He fiddles with his phone before pressing the first number in his call history. Their homework is left abandoned in Kyle's bedroom when he walks his brother into the hallway.

The phone rings while Ike runs to his room. Kyle trails quickly after to watch his brother rummage for a bat he'd probably be too chicken to actually use.

"Who are you calling?" Ike persists as he feels around under his bed. "Should we leave? What if he gets in?"

Kyle doesn't have time to answer his worried brother's inquisitions. The annoying ring of his phone is finally silenced by a comfortingly familiar voice.

"Hey, there, sweet cheeks."

"Now isn't the time for that," Kyle mutters. He can still hear commotion rumbling up from the back patio. It's faint through the walls, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't afraid. "Ken, there's some... guy on our patio. I think he's trying to break in."

"Wait, what? Who is it?" The voice on the other line asks. He seems to have stiffened, all of his spunk immediately drained out of him.

"I don't know! He's got a hood on or something, we can't see him, but he's tearing my patio up and he kept running into the door. My parents are at that Halloween thing. It's just me and Ike here, I don't know what to do."

"Hey, it's okay. Just breathe, alright?"

Kyle sucks in a heavy breath as instructed.

"Is the door locked?" Kenny asks.

"Yeah, but it's made of _glass_."

"I'll be right down, alright. Don't freak out or anything. It's probably just some dumbass making trouble."

Kyle nods, even though his insides are still all twisted up.

"I'm gonna be right there, a'ight?"

Kyle sighs. "Yeah, yeah, okay. Just hurry up. It sounds like he's tearing my house off its foundation."

When Kenny hangs up, Kyle feels the smallest bit better. His raggedy blond friend only lives a few minutes down the street. He'll come and fix this.

"Kenny's on his way," Kyle tells his brother. "He'll be here in like two minutes."

Ike nods in immediate relief.

"Should we go downstairs and wait for him?"

Kyle thinks about it for a moment. While he's shaken and his stomach is twisted up, he doesn't want to just sit in his room and wait.

The brothers decide it best to sneak downstairs and wait for Kenny in the living room. Ike insists on bringing the bat, which Kyle finds to be a comforting idea. They sit close to one another by the front door. Their eyes peer into the black shroud of the kitchen. The pang of shoulder against glass has stopped, much to their relief, but they can still hear the crunch of shoes in snow and angry cursing.

"You know, I didn't realize until now how lucky we really are to be friends with a super hero," Ike points out lightly through the shakiness in his voice.

"You know not to talk about that out loud," Kyle responds immediately. His eyes dart around the room.

"What? Nobody's here to hear me, Jesus Christ."

It isn't much longer before they hear the low rumble of an engine. Kyle jumps up and throws open the door before Kenny can even knock.

"Fuck, thank god you're finally here," Kyle grumbles to himself. It takes all he's got not to latch onto his friend for dear life. He'd hate to call himself a wimp, but the psycho tearing up his porch isn't exactly small. Kyle can't fight like Kenny can.

Ken is fully dressed. His old, orange parka hangs warn and tattered from his shoulders, and his eyes look tired and worried as they fall on Kyle's face. It was obvious he'd jumped out of bed in the middle of the night to come to his rescue.

"Where is this guy?" Kenny asks immediately. He is less then enthused about his best friend's horrified condition.

"He's still on the back patio, last I knew... we haven't heard anything in a few minutes."

"Hey Ike, let me borrow your bat, will you?"

Gladly, Ike agrees.

They follow close behind as Kenny makes his way into the pitch black of the kitchen, fearless and calm. He isn't afraid. Not in the slightest.

He peers around the room, and is relieved to see the sliding glass door still intact. However, everything beyond it does indeed look like a terrible mess. Patio furniture is sprawled out in the snow. Chairs are on their sides, the table is flipped, and the matching umbrella is left open and tossed to the side. He grips the door handle, Kyle right behind him.

"How about you stay inside?" Kenny suggests before peering back at his friend. The faint lights from outside the glass cast an odd glow on his unshaven face. With those messy clothes and a bat clutched to his side, looking at Kenny makes Kyle feel like they just plunged headfirst into a zombie apocalypse.

"Oh, please. I'm not some damsel in distress, you know. I called you for back up, not to stand here and watch you try to take on some masked man by yourself."

"Stay inside, Kyle," Kenny insists sternly.

Kyle frowns deeply. He runs a hand up under his green hat with a defeated sigh. This reminds him a little too much of the old days, but does as Kenny asks. Kyle decides, though, that toeing the very edge of the doorway counts as staying inside.

He never much liked when Ken was in danger.

The ratty blonde steps in the snow. His eyes are sharp and focused as he creeps out into the open. The Broflovski's back yard is blanketed in shadows, but the soft yellow glow of Main Street is enough for him to see.

There's a faint sound from the other side of the toppled furniture. It's soft and quiet, but pained. Kenny keeps his bat in hand, though he realizes he probably won't need it when he catches a glimpse of a long pair of legs lying motionless in the snow.

Kenny's duct-tape covered sneakers kick up white flakes as he gets closer.

"Hello?" he calls, ever careful and cautious as he steps around the toppled table to get a better look at this hooded mystery man.

He doesn't let his guard down. Not until he's made his way around the broken furniture.

Kyle watches in concern when Kenny drops the bat into the snow and falls on his knees. Still, he doesn't leave the safety of the doorway until Kenny asks for him to.

Kyle leaves Ike in the kitchen when he races barefoot out onto the patio. He kicks the overturned table aside only to see a familiar face. It's one of his school mates, Craig Tucker, laying helpless and barely lucid on his back patio. His eyes are closed, and he's covered head to toe in snow.

Kenny pulls the giant's head up into his lap before tapping Craig's face with his palm to try and get a response out of him.

"Hey! Craig!" Kenny coaxes. The back of his hand still lightly smacks the other's cheeks. "Can you hear me?"

Craig starts flinching at the light taps. His eyes open up a little before they roll around in his head like his brains have been knocked loose.

He starts grumbling and whining, which makes relief wash across both Kenny and Kyle's faces.

"He reeks of booze," Kenny points out.

Kyle nods in agreement, though he's too far away to actually catch a whiff for himself.

"What do you think you're doing going around and tearing up people's porches, Godzilla? You're taking your nick name a little too literally," Kenny mutters. He tries his best to keep Craig murmuring, mostly because it just reassures him the fucking idiot's going to be okay.

Craig makes a low, grumbly noise.

"Hey, man, you're gonna be fine."

He and Kyle somehow manage to help Craig to his feet, but it also requires Ike's help to actually get him into the house. Kyle insists that they lay him down on the couch and clean him up. Hypothermia is a nasty thing, and he has no idea how long Craig had been wondering around in the cold with nothing warm but an old hat and an unzipped hoodie. They pry the damp jacket off of his arms, then lay the shivering man down in the warmth of Sheila's floral cushions. He's too tall, though. His legs end up dangling a bit off the side of the couch.

"You feeling alright?" Kyle asks while pressing a hand against Craig's forehead. He's kneeled down beside his classmate with Kenny huddled close.

Craig's eyes crack open again. He isn't sure where he is or what's happening. He doesn't know whose voices are filling his head, or who's surrounding him. The last thing he can recall is walking through an endless plain of white, then being on the ground.

Maybe, just maybe, God had taken pity on him, and took him to heaven.

When he can make out the hazy image of round, green eyes peering down worriedly, he's sure of it.

"I'm going to go get him something warm," Kyle decides. He stands, ready to head off to his closet to grab an old quilt or something of the likes.

Craig's chest heaves awkwardly when the person over him begins to turn away. He reaches out with an unsteady hand to stop them.

Kyle halts. His head whips around to find one of Craig's big, beat up hands wrapped around his thin wrist.

Craig's chapped lips barely part. His eyes are hazy and confused as he continues to heave.

"Tweek..."

Kyle flinches a little. His throat suddenly feels dry, and his chest gets heavier as he watches the infamous Craig Tucker's blue eyes brim with tears.

Kenny's still sitting on the floor by the couch. The both of them lock eyes a moment, at a loss for what to do, or even think.

"I'll be right back... okay?" Kyle assures gently, though it feels awkward and forced. Craig's grip is so light that all Kyle has to do is take a step back to fall out of it. Craig doesn't protest or say a word as he watches the green eyed, slender figure walk away.

Kenny pats his friend's chest with a sympathetic smile while Kyle rummages through the living room closet.

"Hey, Godzilla," he says. "Can you hear me?"

Craig swallows hard, but nods.

"What were you doing out there, big guy? You could have gotten hurt, you know."

Craig says nothing.

"Is it cause of Tweek?"

A frown comes to his sharp features. For the first time ever, Kenny decides to give his classmate a little pity. Ike, on the other hand, is too busy sending frantic texts to his girlfriend to pay attention to her brother.

"How about I just take you home?"

Kyle returns with a large coat. It's old and torn, but a hell of a lot thicker than what they found him in. He's gently laying it over Craig's chest when the giant takes a hefty breath.

"My parents," he mutters through a tight jaw and chapped lips. It's so quiet they almost don't catch it. "They made me leave."

Kenny's face visibly falls. This is a little more serious than he originally thought, but he doesn't pry.

"Is there anywhere else you can go?"

"Do you have a rocket?"

"… no?…"

"Then… you can't take me there."

Suddenly, the ever smooth Kenny McCormick is out of things to say.

"Kyle, Ruby's freaking out. We gotta let him stay the night," Ike insists as he stands beside the couch.

"What? Are you crazy? Mom will kill us. We still have to try to fix the patio before she gets home, which should be in like two hours."

"We can't just dump him in a snowdrift. Where else is he supposed to go?"

Kenny keeps his eyes locked onto Craig's pained expression. It isn't natural seeing Godzilla look so pitiful and needy.

He sighs.

"I know where to take him, if you and Ike'll help me walk him to the car."

The brothers look at one another for a moment, but hesitantly agree to help.

They walk him out the same way they walked him in, Kenny and Kyle on each arm as Ike helps keep Craig from falling.

The front stoop light is an ugly yellow color, but it helps keep the group on their feet rather than buried in the snow under an unconscious Godzilla.

Kyle and Kenny have much more trouble actually stuffing the man into the passenger seat, but, after a few slips and a couple times nearly bouncing their heads off the doorframe, they finally get him settled down and buckled in.

"Woo," Kenny lets out in relief as he stretches his back. "That has got to weigh like three hundred pounds."

Kyle smiles and nods. "I hope he'll be okay…"

"Hey, don't worry. I'll drop dumbass here off somewhere safe," Kenny says with a sigh. He yanks open the rusted door of his junk car, and, with a small grin, utters, "See you tomorrow, babe."

"Kenny, wait," he begs before the other can manage to slide into the driver's seat. Ken looks back with brows raised and jaw slack. The heavy look in Kyle's eyes makes him swallow hard. It's not angry or frustrated like usual.

It's sad.

"… Why do you still call me that?"

"Call you what?"

"Babe."

There's a thickness that settles between them like dust on a book no one's read for years. It makes Kyle's eyes sting and Kenny's lungs heavy.

"Well…" he begins, "Old habits die hard, I guess."

The green edge of his hat hides Kyle's eyes as he looks down at his slip-ons. He wants to stand there and just talk forever. Say anything and everything here with Kenny in the falling snow. Sadly, though, there isn't anything left to say.

"Hey," Kenny mutters. Kyle peeks up from tuffs of wild red hair to see his friend's cockeyed smile. It was always such a comforting sight. "I'm still here, okay?"

Kyle nips at the skin of his bottom lip. "I know."

There comes a gagging sound from inside the piece of junk Kenny's leaning against.

"Oh, shit. You better not blow chunks in my car, Craig, or I swear to god I really am gonna dump you in a snowdrift," Kenny hollers into the open door.

Kyle watches as his friend climbs over the passenger seat to undo Craig's belt. The other door comes open, and said giant nearly goes spilling out. He manages to keep Kenny's floor from being coated in alcohol and stomach acid, but the side of his snow-soaked jeans aren't as lucky.

"You have never looked more attractive than you do right now," Kenny shorts. It earns him a weak middle finger

Craig's head is still leaning out the side of the car as he coughs. Kenny takes a firm hold of said finger. He uses it like a handle to pull Craig back in the car. He stiffens up. His arms and legs go ridged like a cat stuck in a bathtub.

"Come on, dick. I'm dropping you off."

Craig huffs, but sinks slowly back into the seat.

Kenny's rust bucket sputters to life as Kyle comes to his still open driver's side door. He's hugging himself while he peers in at the side of Kenny's face. He's in desperate need of a haircut.

"Thanks for coming by."

Ken smiles before nodding. "No problem, Mary Jane."

Kyle cocks a wide grin against his will. Out of all the things Kenny calls him, that's a nickname he hasn't heard in a long time.

"Yeah, whatever."

…

"Special delivery for Token Black."

Token gives Kenny an odd look from the doorway. The shorter of the two finds humor in this, considering Token's the one wrapped in toilet paper with a fuzzy wolf head poking up from his shoulder in curiosity.

Loud music seeps out onto the pristine lawn from the doorway. It's some odd rendition of The Monster Mash that a bunch of middle aged people have taken to dancing to. Kenny can see their drunken excuses for body movement beyond the doorway. The Blacks' themselves are in on it, along with Stan's parents. Kenny sticks up his nose at the thought of him.

Seems like the Blacks' party is in full swing.

"C'mon, I'll show you," he says while motioning towards his car. It's parked out on the street thanks to the cluster fuck of vehicles in the driveway and along the road. All of South Park really did show up to this damn thing.

Kenny finds himself thankful they decided to skip out on this after all. Kyle can't take large crowds.

Token and Clyde follow as he leads them through the grass.

"Kyle called me in the middle of the night 'cause this idiot was tearing up his patio," Kenny explains as they finally reach his shit hole of a car. "By time I got there he was passed out in the snow."

When he yanks on the door handle the vehicle floods with light. Craig is still slouched low in the passenger seat with bags in his eyes and vomit in his shoes. The werewolf immediately peels his face off, exposing a wide-eyed Clyde underneath. Token, however, looks more disgusted than he does concerned.

"Why'd you bring him here?" Token asks with a dirty look. "Take him home."

"Well… that's just the thing," Kenny says while rubbing the back of his neck. "He says his folks threw him out. I didn't know who else to take him to."

"What?" Clyde blurts in anger. He's down beside his brother, one hand is still on Craig's arm as he looks to Kenny for answers. "Why? What happened?"

"Hell if I know. He just kept talking about Tweek the whole way here. Didn't know if that'd be the best place for him, though, considering."

"Come on, Token, we have to get him inside," Clyde says as he reaches in and unbuckles his brother.

Token doesn't make a move to help. He just stands and watches with conflict written on his face. Clyde can feel the disapproving look his friend is burning into the back of his head. All this does is set his nerves aflame.

"He's my brother and he's cold!" Clyde snaps with a snarl that startles both Kenny and Token. "Are you gonna help me or not?"

With a defeated sigh and a nod, his friends both inch closer to help extract the drunken man from the car. Craig is practically dead weight when he finally spills out and onto them. His eyes crack open, though just barely as Token and Kenny hoist either of his arms up over their shoulders. They advance towards the booming music slowly, so maybe Craig can actually keep his own footing. No such luck, though. Even with their help, he can't quite walk a straight line.

They get him up past the stoop and into the house, though they all nearly went tumbling on that first step.

No one really seems to see the small struggle by the door. The music drowns most everything out, and the adults congregated in the foyer are too drunk and into their idiotic dancing to even take notice.

There is one person that stops to stare as she passes through to get more punch. She's a pretty girl with long blond curls and cat whiskers painted onto her face.

She watches with worry and a deep frown as they lead him away and into the nearest bathroom.

Clyde closes the door behind them while Kenny and Token try to coax Craig into taking a seat on the toilet. All he registers are distorted noises and foggy colors. He feels so tired, and if the world keeps spinning like this he's going to heave all over again. There are people around him. They move about and say his name, but his eyes are too heavy to reply.

They're so so heavy…

* * *

A plate of food is suddenly set before him. It's bacon and eggs, though the bacon looks burnt to a crisp and both eggs had their yolks popped on accident. The only thing that isn't completely messed up is the toast, and that's thanks to the toaster having done all the work and not Token.

"… What's this?" Craig asks softly as he stares down at the plate.

"Food… Your favorite is still bacon and eggs, right?"

Craig smiles a little, though it's lopsided.

"…yeah… thanks," he utters. He picks up a crispy bacon strip and digs down into the egg yolk. Some of it's still soft, but his bacon breaks in two anyway. He still eats it.

Token sits down across from him. He also has a breakfast, though it's just a small bowl of oatmeal- pretty much the only thing Token can cook well.

"… Thanks for letting me stay…"

Token just shrugs a little. "Don't thank me. It's what friends do. Besides, my parents ate up the whole abandoned gay kid thing. You can stay as long as you want."

"I'm not really gay, you know," Craig grumbles a little dejectedly.

"Bi?"

Burnt bacon crunches between Craig's teeth as he thinks about it. This food's not really setting well with his lingering hangover, but he'll make it through.

"No… I'm not that either. I don't like guys."

"Just Tweek?"

Craig stops chewing. Suddenly, he feels like he can throw up again.

"… Yeah. Just Tweek."

Breakfast seems to continue on quietly for some time as they pick at their food.

Craig frowns a little while wiping some grease off his lip.

"Hey…" he mutters through his migraine.

"Hm?" Token utters distractedly.

"… Is he okay?"

Token stares blankly for a moment, then sighs a little. He swirls his spoon around in this oatmeal.

"… Don't worry. Clyde and I are taking care of him."

That didn't exactly answer Craig's question, but maybe it's best if he doesn't know. It's always been hard for him to keep away when he knows Tweek is hurting. This time, though…

It's quiet yet again as Craig arranges his plate on the Blacks' fancy dinner cloth. He lines it up as perfectly as he can in the crisscrossing diamond shapes.

"Do you… hate me?"

Finally, Token looks up from his bowl. His jaw moves as he chews, then he looks back down into his oatmeal. The time he takes picking through his food makes Craig uncomfortable.

"No… no," he finally answers quietly.

Craig feels an odd relief sink into him. His gaze shifts out the window. Everything looks brilliant blue as the sun slowly rises over the tops of mountains.

He wants to reply, but he feels so humbled in the midst of his friend's caring nature that he can't even fathom words meaningful enough to reply with.

He was always bad at words, anyway.

"I woke up in time to see the sun come up," he comments as he watches a bluish glow illuminate the dining room. He'd literally only been up for a few minutes. Token demanded he come downstairs to eat. Craig supposes he was just worried.

However, Token lets out a chuckle.

"You mean go down."

"What?"

"It's like… eight thirty at night. You slept all day."

Craig blinks in bewilderment, then looks back down at his food while rubbing sleepies out of his eyes.

"All day," he mimics like a robot parrot. Or, at least, that's what little Tweek would say.

Token nods.

"… I don't have to stay if you don't want," Craig says. His eyes remain trained out the window. Looking at Token is hard considering how things have been. The last time they saw one another was like something out of a nightmare, and he's sure Token meant what he said in that text massage.

He doesn't want him around here.

"It's fine… really," Token assures. "At first I was just doing it for Clyde and Tweek's sake, but… I've never seen you so pitiful before. Guess it's just hard to turn an old friend away."

An old friend…

"Um…hey, are you gonna get that?" Token asks with a cocked brow.

"Huh?"

"Your phone keeps going off."

"Oh…"

Craig reaches down for his overnight bag. He's honestly amazed it ended up in tact still beside him, considering he can't remember anything of last night. He only remembers kissing Tweek's fingers, and whatever Token told him to help fill in the blanks. Waking up in the guest room was a surprise, to say the least.

The bag is in his lap as he digs through it. Somewhere in that mess of unfolded clothes and doodads he manages to find his phone. It's barely charged, but it's still getting messages.

He sees the name: Sunshine.

Token has a suspicious look to his face when he sees how white Craig's gotten.

The giant doesn't notice. He just licks his lips nervously, then swipes the notification box. He never deleted their thread. That was mostly due to the fact that he couldn't look at it. Every message they ever sent was still there, from casual chitchat to intimate love notes. He didn't want to see it.

He still doesn't.

_(11/1/12)_

_Sunshine: Were you here?... Bob was on my bed?!_

_Sunshine: I heard you were in trouble last night. R u ok?_

Craig bites his lip.

"Who is it?" Token asks curiously.

Craig doesn't answer Token. Instead, he presses his finger onto the white strip of a text box. It pulls up, but he just sits dumbly and stares at it.

Tweek seems to be getting upset, because more text messages pour in. This is frustrating, because when he finally decides on what to say he has something new to reply to.

_Me: im typing_

_Sunshine: o_

It feels like Craig's whole body is vibrating. He knows Tweek is there in his room right now, lying in bed as his tiny fingers grip at his phone.

_Me: Yea that was me. I'm not in trouble. I'm with Token._

_Sunshine: O. Y were u here? Did u need me?_

Craig bites down on his bottom lip. Hard. Any harder and he'd probably be tasting blood.

Yes. Yes Craig needed him. He can't even remember all of last night, but he knows because he still needs him now.

_Me: Get some rest._

_Sunshine: I cant._

Craig grumbles quietly to himself. He's in too deep to just stop replying now, but he has no idea what to say. The longer he waits to reply, the more anxious text massages he receives.

He glares at his cell phone. 2%. Now would not be the best time to die.

_Sunshine: ... craig? Ur kinda scaring me._

Craig closes his eyes a moment, then takes in a small, steadying breath. Token is still watching. Craig can feel his eyes burning a hole into his forehead.

_Me: It's ok. Someday this mess will be behind you. youll be in bed with someone who treats u like u should be. I'm sorry. Dont be scared._

Just as the message marks sent, that dreaded silver apple logo devours his screen. Dead. He grips it in annoyance as it shuts off, then throws it aside on the dining room table.

That's it. Craig doesn't know what to feel. He wanted to keep talking, honestly, really, he did. It's probably for the best, though. How is Tweek supposed to forget if Craig's still there reminding him?

It must be obvious by Craig's downward gaze that his heart hurts. It's made even more obvious, though, when he presses his elbows into the table and hides his face in his hands. Token leans forward once he pushes aside his empty bowl.

He squeezes Craig's shoulder in quiet reassurance.

It's only then he realizes Craig is crying.

There's no sound. There are no sobs or sniffles. There is no shaking or trembling. There's just what Token can see of his face; Twisted, red, and quickly becoming wet.

"I miss him," he admits quietly. "So much."

All Token can do is nod in understanding, even though Craig's eyes are still shielded by his hands.

"I miss her, too, but this is different," Craig manages to choke out through his tears. "It's only been like three days but I can hardly take it."

"You've been inseparable since grade school... it's gonna hurt," Token reasons quietly. "You're doing the right thing, though… Even if it's not easy."

Craig nods his head, and a small, sorrowful sound finally escapes from his lips.

Token doesn't feel like he's looking at the friend he's come to know. His movements are slow and careful, his words are kinder, gentler. Though this is due to the sadness that's overtaken him, it feels oddly reassuring to see a gaping hole in the armor Craig hides behind.

Maybe Tweek was right all those years. Maybe, somewhere in there, a little boy in moon shoes does still exist.

…

The mountains are really pretty this time of day. The sun is slowly setting behind him, as it does every afternoon.

Craig leans back against his chair. He's trying his best to relax as a cool November breeze flows around his face. Everything is covered in snow; from the very tip of the mountain tops to the tiny little streets in the town below. He can see almost everything from up here on the Blacks' balcony.

Kenny McDickface sits nearby. His legs are crossed as he leans back in his own chair. His fingers press against the tight strings of his guitar, and he's singing a soft tune.

Craig has his instrument as well. It doesn't sound the same anymore since he threw it against a wall, but, luckily, it's still playable.

He wouldn't have let go of it even if it wasn't.

He doesn't much feel like singing today; he never does anymore. However, Craig uses his guitar to match Kenny's tune with his own. They're playing a song Kenny wrote himself. _Mary Jane_ is what it's called.

Craig actually really likes it.

Turns out he likes a lot of Kenny's music. So much so they decided to team up and start a two man band. So far so good, Craig supposes, but Kenny won't be satisfied with their agreement until Craig sings again. Which he will, when he starts feeling a little better.

_Mary Jane_ comes to an end, and both musicians are left in silence.

Kenny plucks a few strings on his guitar.

"Wanna play another?" he asks with a faint grin.

Godzilla shrugs listlessly. McCordick's grin turns into an annoyed frown.

"This music thing won't go anywhere if I'm the only one practicing, you know."

"Anywhere," Craig mimics.

"Will you stop doing that?" His scruffy companion asks. "It's weird as hell when you copy me like that."

Craig forgets that not everyone can understand his bits and pieces of sentences like his ex could.

_Ex_. Could he even call Tweek that?

"Got Dorothy on the brain?"

"Huh?"

"You know- Teacup, spazy, the coffee grinder, your precious sunshine?"

Craig huffs like a bull through his nose in warning. During moments like these, he regrets selecting Kenny as his confidant.

In spite, said blond shows his teeth in an attractively lopsided smirk. It's weird how he can do that. It's annoying. Craig would like nothing more than to pop that dumb smile right off Kenny's face.

He has to be good now, though. No more hitting.

What was it Sunshine always said to calm down?...

Ah, right.

_In through your nose,  
Out through your mouth._

Craig follows through with a deep breath, and simply answers with a small nod.

He still doesn't talk much. It seems he talks less than ever before lately.

Token keeps saying if he doesn't have anything nice to say he shouldn't say anything at all.

Turns out about 90% of the things Craig has to say aren't nice.

"Well wallowing in pity ain't gonna help much, now is it?"

"Is it," Craig mimics.

Kenny shakes his head. "No. No it is not. You've gotta live life, you know! It's been like two weeks since you've seen Dorothy, if you don't want to kiss and make up, forget about it."

Easy enough for Kenny to say.

He doesn't know what it's like, and Craig isn't much in the mood for explaining.

"Drink?" Craig grumbles.

"... uh."

Craig clears his throat. He has to mentally prepare himself for a full sentence anymore. He has to go over it a couple times in his head, just to make sure it sounds right.

"Do you want a drink?"

Kenny looks down at the old wood of his guitar. That stupid look is still on his face. Oh, oh, how Craig wishes he didn't have to live by playing nice.

_In through your nose,  
Out through your mouth_

_No mean sentences._

_No hitting._

"Yeah, sure. I'd like one of those vanilla cokes."

Craig's rocking chair squeaks as he lifts himself up out of it. Kenny gives him a sideways glance as he sets his damaged guitar down. Craig tightens his hoodie around his middle, and then disappears into the luxurious double doors heading into the library.

With a small sigh Kenny presses his fingers into his strings, and then strums the first chord for _Mary Jane_.

Meanwhile, Craig's footsteps echo in the cavernous space of shelved books. The kitchen is a bit of a walk away.

He follows the second story railing into a hallway, where he passes his bedroom, takes a left into another hallway, passes the theater, and then finally comes to the stairs that lead into the foyer. It's long since been cleaned of any remnants of the big Halloween bash. Now those words only leave Craig feeling stupid and empty.

His feet squish into carpet as he makes his way into the kitchen.

However, it seems someone already beat him there.

Craig can only stare with his jaw unhinged in awe. He takes a step back, but is so stunned he can't will his body to move. Instead, he stands in the middle of the kitchen with widened eyes.

Golden rays of sunlight beam in from tall windows and cast their long glow onto the refrigerator. It's like they found their way inside just to get caught in the wheat colored hair of the person rummaging in the cabinets nearby.

The tiny person he's been gawking at stumbles back and away from the counter, then pushes its cabinet closed with an annoyed squeak.

Unwittingly, he turns quickly around to investigate the next cabinet.

Their eyes lock.

Tweek stops dead.

His entire body breaks out in tremors as he grips a big coffee cup in his hands.

The over sized mug is empty and clean around the brim. As Craig fears, Tweek does not speak. He only shifts side to side in fright before holding out said up as a startled explanation.

"Coffee?" Craig asks almost dumbly. He didn't even mean to say it. What he meant to do was turn around and quickly run in the other direction.

Tweek looks down into the mug with anxious eyes. It's white with a picture of a frog stretched over its front. Craig isn't surprised to see the twitchy creature clinging to such an absurd thing. He's also in some silly sweater covered in reindeer, which matches his pajama bottoms.

He must be staying the night with Token.

Tweek finally nods, though it looks a little jarring with how hard he's doing it.

Craig bites his bottom lip. He nearly questions if this is just another unfair dream until he takes in the ugly smudge on Tweek's cheek. It's turning an odd shade of green and yellow rather than the brown it was last time he saw him.

Craig turns away from the other to reach up into a wooden cabinet above the coffee machine. There are flavor packs there. He takes several handfuls of them to restock the wire rack set out on the marble countertop, but keeps one in his hand.

Tweek inches slowly closer, but not too close, to watch Craig push the banana flavored pack into its place and press down the top. Only when Craig backs away does Tweek inch towards it and push his mug in the side of the maker.

Craig's regained control of his limbs, but he doesn't want to use them.

He doesn't want to go.

He wants to stand here for as long as he can and just take in the folds of Tweek's dumbly festive clothes; the shaking of his hands. He wants to reach out and touch him. Feel him under his fingers and against his chest. He wants it so badly, but he can see how timid Tweek has become. He can see the hurt and worry in his eyes as he tosses confused gazes in Craig's direction.

"How have you been?" Tweek finally asks. It sounds so little and small, which makes Craig's chest flutter in a way it shouldn't.

Tweek's eyes shift, and he leans uncomfortably to the side as he watches his cup slowly fill.

Craig shrugs a little.

He isn't used to Tweek being so awkward and quiet. It seems like only yesterday he would be gripping tightly to Craig's thumb while openly contemplating the usefulness of kitchen tiles.

He misses it.

He misses Tweek.

"I've been okay," Tweek mutters as if Craig had answered him, and then returned the inquiry.

However, Craig stands wordlessly. He listens close to Tweek over the sound of the coffee machine. Hearing that voice again soothes his ears. It's just now Craig suddenly remembers how painful it was the last time he heard it.

The giant just wants to see a smile. He just wants to hear the happy, bubbly laughter he stole away.

However, he doesn't have enough courage to try to earn a grin.

It won't be any different until he can learn how to be nice.

How not to get angry and hit.

The giant's face visibly falls.

He just can't keep it all in anymore. He's shocked to hear a noise spill out of his own mouth that sounds dangerously close to a sob. He bites his lip hard, but doesn't leave until he can't see Tweek's eyes through his own tears.

"Sorry," Craig chokes out before quickly turning and leaving the room.

Tweek watches with a tilted head as Craig retreats into the foyer. Craig doesn't stay to see that, though, or Tweek's parting lips.

When he finally reaches the balcony yet again, he finds Kenny leaning into the railing to look out over the town. It's starting to get dark now. The sky is turning pinks and purples.

Ken backs away a little, like he's scared he'll end up tumbling over the rails and onto the hard pavement below. He turns his head slightly when he hears Craig shut the balcony door. The curtains tied to the sides of said door sway like a pretty girl's hair around her ears.

Craig can only stand awkwardly with his chest heaving. By the time he made his way back he managed to blink all the tears away, but it's obvious to Kenny there's something not quite right with his fellow bandmate.

"... What's the matter?" McCormick questions as he stands up straight. He's so taken off guard he'd completely forgotten about his coke.

Craig shakes his head. He licks the roof of his dry mouth with a split tongue.

"Session's over," he blurts.

Kenny lifts an eyebrow, but Craig's not having his snooping around tonight. He walks around his friend, and then lifts him by the back of his parka.

"Hey! Whoa!" Kenny hollers in shock as Craig literally carries him to the door.

He carefully sets him down on the other side, along with the guitar hanging around his shoulders.

"It was fun. Bye now."

Kenny just blinks in confusion as the door is yet again slammed, though this time it's practically in his face.

Well then… he supposes he'll take his guitar and be on his way.

He turns and begins the long track back to the main entrance of the house. His car is waiting in the driveway for him. It's just so far away. Craig could have at least had the courtesy to carry him to his car.

He notices, though, that there is the sound of another person's footsteps echoing from the end of the hall. He stops in curiosity.

A timid little person appears from the stairway. He stops to take note of Kenny for a short moment. One of his little hands comes up to wave while the other is wrapped around the handle of a coffee mug. Kenny nods his head in greeting before Tweek opens the door to the theater room. A voice is heard greeting him before the wooden door softly latches behind him.

…

Craig stays in his room tonight. Kenny has long since left. He's spent the last couple hours just lying in bed and listening quietly. He can hear the surround sound from the theater rumbling through the house. He wants to join him like he would any other night before, but he knows he's not welcome. He's learned sometimes it's better if he blends into the wallpaper.

Plus, he is still shaken.

He lays in the same position for what feels like an eternity. Motionless, silent, but not relaxed. He doesn't dare move until a rather particular noise peeks his interest.

It's music… like a ringtone? It's not in his room he doesn't think, but it's close enough to hear over the movie playing around the bend. Curiosity gets the best of him.

He slips out of bed.

Following the sound, he allows his bedroom door to creek open. A yellow band pierces through the crack of his door, penetrating the dark of the hall. He can see a flashing light from the floor, where there is indeed a cellphone. Twisting his face, he opens his door all the way.

The banner of light shines onward, and he can faintly see a small lump in the shade of his shadow.

He steps forward and kneels down.

It's a small stuffed animal with a grey face and big black eyes. A familiar cellphone sits in Bob's lap. It's alarm is going off; set for 10:30pm. The alarm's preset name is displayed in black letters on a grey background.

_Meet me at the moon._

He feels suddenly like there are boulders tied to his feet, and cloth on his tongue.

After about a minute of staring with overwhelmed eyes, he turns off the annoying buzz of the alarm.

He doesn't think he should go, but if this means what he thinks it does someone very important is cold and alone right now. With a loud sigh, he scoops both items up onto the floor and crams them in his hoodie's big pockets.

He quietly tracks through the house, though h stops to peek into the theater room. Token is there, but he's alone and snoring in one of the back seats. Craig grins a little. He forgot it was a school night. They don't really apply to him since he dropped out last week, but Token still conks out after ten.

He creeps down into the foyer yet again, and slips his shoes on at the door.

…

His feet shuffle against pure white snow. He's biting his lip as he looks around the playground. It's so dark. Only the partial moon and glittering stars light his way as he walks past a set of wooden toys- one of which is a little submarine.

He's headed towards the rocket, but stops abruptly when he spots something. Thin denim clad legs are dangling over the edge of the merry-go-round.

Craig swallows hard as he slowly builds up enough courage to walk towards them.

He comes close enough to lay his hand down on one of the colorful safety bars of the marry-go-round. He squeezes it tightly in his hand. His chest wells up with all sorts of misery when he looks down to see Tweek's face.

The slumbering boy is covered in a thin layer of snowflakes. His eyes are closed, and his chest rises and falls rhythmically. Craig can't help but notice how lovely he looks in the glow of the park's solitary lamppost, and how much harder his own heart is suddenly beating.

His fellow spaceman always slept in odd places. He must have gotten tired waiting out here. Luckily, he's at least in a thick green coat.

Craig tries hard to hold back a small chuckle or thick tears.

Feeling the world move slightly beneath him, the little blonde's eyes slowly open. He squints to get a good look of the person standing to the side of him through the faint lighting.

The moment he sees Craig's pierced face, he bolts upright. Craig steps back and out of Tweek's bubble. He isn't looking to make him uncomfortable or to scare him…

He really doesn't want to scare him.

"You came…," Tweek quietly rejoices. Sleepies are still in his eyes and a grogginess is lacing his voice.

Craig looks down at his feet, and then slowly nods. He steps before the small, jumpy creature, though he makes sure not to step too close. He gets down on his knees. The bitter cold snow wets his pants and nips at his skin. He makes himself small, he makes himself vulnerable.

For the first time in a long time, Craig is vulnerable.

Tweek tips his head to the side, as if it's suddenly become too heavy for him to hold up on his own. He watches Craig. His excitement soon slips into a frown when he sees the other's sad form.

Craig is kneeled before him on his circular throne of multicolored metal and rusted bars. Tweek kicks his feet a little bit. His brown boots just come inches from Craig's chest. He wants to reach out and touch one. Then again, he's also half expecting to get kicked right in the jaw.

"Hello," Tweek says softly. He's looking down at his glove covered hands.

"… Hello," Craig stiffly replies.

Tweek looks up shyly.

All it does is widen the crack in Craig's chest. It's not as bright as it could be out here, but he can still make out those dreaded marks on Tweek's face.

He can see how cold he is, too, with the way he shakes when he moves.

"… I'm sorry," the little thing whispers. Puffs of wispy white smoke leak from his mouth and nose as he speaks. The yellow earmuffs on his head are lopsided and skewed from sleeping on them, and snow is still stuck in his hair and on his clothes.

Craig wants to straighten them.

He wants to warm him up like he used to.

"I know you don't want to be here… I just really needed to see you."

Craig can tell just by how hard Tweek is bouncing his leg that he's trying to restrain himself. Whether it's from littering Craig with kisses or spitting curses, the giant isn't quite sure.

"Here I am," Craig says. He's wide open and ready for whatever Tweek needs to get past this. Well... maybe not entirely, but he's trying to be.

Conversation is hard to keep rolling. They're both distracted by the cold shivering in their bones and the anxiously pounding muscles in their chests. Tweek hadn't even expected Craig to show, and Craig hadn't expected to be here.

The distant echo of a dogs bark resonates softly through the dark playground like a nostalgic song. They've heard it before, but that was when they were laying close to one another.

When their hands interlaced.

"...did you mean it?" Tweek asks with a downcast gaze.

"... what?"

Tweek bites his lip, and then goes back to lightly kicking his feet in anxiousness. It's obvious he's embarrassed to be asking. He looks a little afraid, even.

The last time he tried to have this conversation it ended in a buzzing that rattled in his head for three days, and a brokenness he still can't shake.

"When you said you never really wanted me… was it true?"

Craig is silent for a short while as he replays all the cruel things he'd said the last time they actually spoke. If only he could cover them with smudges of black sharpie.

"No," he finally says. "… I said it 'cause I was scared..."

Tweek looks off somewhere in the distance as he rubs his legs with his hands. It looks like he's not convinced. Craig won't blame him if he isn't. After all, lying was the only thing Craig did towards the end.

"I promise... I'm still your spaceman."

Tweek glances at the other in shock before his round face starts warping with sorrow. His forehead scrunches, and his bottom lip sticks out. He hides his face in his mittens. His cozy button up coat heaves along with his chest.

"Please don't cry…" Craig chokes out.

Tweek shakes his head hard. He's trying not to, but out of all the times he'd felt like sobbing this is the hardest to overcome.

After a few deep breaths, his lips part.

"Then why," he whimpers pitifully. "Why did you do this to me?"

Craig allows himself to take a soft hold onto Tweek's leg. There come no complaints, so his other hand follows suit. He leans over Tweek's lap a little, and closes his eyes.

"You made me happy... I wanted you to myself, but I was ashamed; selfish. I was only worried about making myself feel good," Craig's breath becomes labored. "I knew it was hard for you, but I still wouldn't stop..."

Don't cry in front of Tweek. This isn't about you anymore.

This isn't about you.

"I just wanted you to love me," Tweek admits through the red on his face and the wetness of his eyes.

Craig's are just as hazy now, though he has enough control to stay silent.

"...I do," he admits.

"...huh?" Tweek whimpers in disbelief.

"I love you."

Craig's lower lip is twitching without his consent. His eyes feel foggier and foggier the more he talks. "I'm sorry I didn't kiss you goodbye or take you on dates and do all the dorky stuff you wanted to do. I wish I could, but I can't. Not yet. I have to learn how to be nice. Not selfish. No mean things. No hitting..."

He shakes his head. He doesn't realize there are tears on his face until they feel like they're freezing to his skin.

"I want you to be happy," he whimpers. "Even if I can't be with you. Even if I spend all my life protecting you from me."

His lip trembles. The giant's head lowers and his gentle grip on the sides of Tweek's thin legs get a little tighter. Little wet spots appear as chilled tears drip onto Tweek's jeans.

"I won't make you cry again."

A hand touches the back of his hat, and his head falls into Tweek's lap.

"I'm so sorry."

His shoulders shake. His thick cries fill the playground that had once only heard their laughter. Tweek is grieving too. Craig can hear it in his voice, though he isn't speaking.

He is singing.

Craig can barely make it out through the sound of his own tears. He's too busy squeezing Tweek around his middle and burying his face into the cloth covering his ex-lovers belly. It smells vivid and sharp like licorice.

He only truly hears the sound when Tweek's mittens rub his back enough to slightly subdue his choked crying.

"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine."

Craig breathes snot in through his nose. His chest heaves and he sucks in loud, quivering breaths.

He'd never heard Tweek sing before.

Never.

"You make me happy when skies are gray."

He again hides his face in Tweek's hip, but his desperate grieving has been reduced to little more than labored breathing.

"You'll never know dear, how much I love you. Please don't take my sunshine away."

Slowly, his heavy eyes close. His insides are still raging, but the tranquil place he's resting in helps ease that a little.

"The other night, dear, as I laid sleeping, I dreamt I held you in my arms. When I awoke, dear, I was mistaken, so I hung my head and cried."

It was so high and small, more like a child than a teenager. It sounds almost ghostly as it pierces the nothingness around them and that same lonely dog barks somewhere far away.

He sounds like he did when they were small.

Tweek doesn't finish his song. His voice fades away as he squeezes his knees together, as he plays with Craig's poofball and lets out a shaky sigh.

Craig pretends to be asleep for a short while, because he knows as long as he does he won't have to let go.

This conversation won't have to continue and they won't have to reach the inevitable conclusion.

This is the end for them.

This is the last chance Craig will have to hold him this close. To feel his own breath caught in Tweek's clothes and those trembling hands on his back.

"Craig," that voice utters softly.

"… hm?"

"You really think I'd be better off if you were gone?"

Craig doesn't reply at first, though, after a little thought, he nods.

"Look up."

Craig's eyes are still wet as he peers above the dark playground from over Tweek's arm.

"Why?" Craig utters with raspy breath. Every time he breathes in the cold hair irritates his throat.

"Do you see them?"

"The stars?... kind of."

"Do you know what a star is?"

"… a ball of burning gas."

Tweek smiles a little, and then presses his warm mitten against Craig's cheek.

"That's right, but some of them are suns with their own solar systems. With their own planets- with plants and animals we've never seen before. Where the grass is blue, the sky is green, and there are aliens to battle and adventures to be had."

Tweek stops to shake his head. His jaw unhinges as he lets out a quiet whimper.

"You know, we'll never get to see those things. All you and I ever were is just meaningless specks in this vast universe who's feet will never leave the ground. We were never special. We were never spacemen."

Tweek's eyes spill over. Craig can see the streams glistening in the light of the lamp post.

"But you made me believe that I could be."

Tweek's lip is trembling, his eyes still fixed on the glistening stars above them. His teardrops fall on the fringe of Craig's hair as he sucks in a thick breath.

Craig tries to mimic the gasp, bit it snags somewhere in the bottom of his throat.

"I know things can't be like they were. W-we're both too afraid right now… but this doesn't have to be the end."

He can barely speak now. His mouth feels full of cotton balls and desperation. He's choking out words Craig didn't think he'd ever hear.

Craig nods against Tweek's coat. He feels Bob still bulging his hoodie pocket, and reaches in to pet her head.

"We can start over," the little blond whispers more to himself than to his companion, "and see where it goes. Maybe we'll never be comfortable being together again, but at least you'll still be in my life…"

Without warning, Craig stands up.

The legs of his jeans are sopping from where he'd been kneeling in the snow, and his face is still cold and wet.

He grabs a firm hold of the marry-go-round, and, before Tweek can question it, he pushes.

Tweek holds on tight as the world swirls around him in streams of white and blue. He lets his feet drag along in the snow, and yelps a little when a strong hand snatches the bar beside him.

There is a man attached to that hand, one that's awkwardly shuffling his feet.

"Hi, my name's Craig…"

Tweek can't stop himself from cracking a small grin. He sucks on his lip for a moment to mask it, and wipes the tears off his face. "I know your name."

"Oh… you're Twig, right?"

" _Twig?_ No, It's Tweek!"

"I like Twig better."

Tweek lightly kicks the front of one of Craig's legs.

The other only smiles through his tears, but quickly spins the merry-go-round once again. He runs along with it, long legs kicking before he makes the jump and lands with one jarring movement alongside Tweek.

"I like the star you're wearing," Tweek comments as the whole world becomes a messy blur.

Craig looks down at his chest to see his faintly glowing star had fallen out of his shirt.

"Thanks," he says with a small grin.

"I used to be a spaceman."


End file.
